


Heal the Pain

by Zhie



Series: Freedom! [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse, Burying the Past - Literally, Elven Wine, Elves with Beards, Haircuts, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Past Relationship(s), Polygamy, Threesome - M/M/M, Underwater Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:23:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9346316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Fingon comes to a realization regarding Glorfindel.  Glorfindel tries not to reveal everything.  Erestor does his best to be supportive.





	1. He Must Have Really Hurt You to Make Those Pretty Eyes So Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nimlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimlock/gifts).



> I haven't been posting anything in any semblance of order, so why start now? This story was inspired by ideas Nimlock had. They have also been doing an amazing job betaing for me. Thanks, J! <3

“Honey, could we talk?” Fingon lounged on the settee, one leg up and the other stretched out atop a low stool with a mangled cushion. He had a fork in his right hand, and motioned with it like a conductor with a baton. “I do not want you to take this the wrong way because sometimes I can be too forward, but is there a reason why you feel compelled to bathe or shower two or three times per day?”

Glorfindel had just entered the great room of the Cottage of Lost Play. A worn towel with red and gold stripes was wrapped around his waist and another was over his shoulders, while a third, fluffy and lilac in color, was being used to tenderly pat his hair dry. “Whaaat?” He shifted his gaze away from Fingon, who was eating a late supper after returning several hours after Erestor had arrived home from work.

“Whhaaaaaa-no,” answered Fingon in a high-pitched voice as he buttered a thin slice of bread. There were also a bowl of vegetables atop steaming noodles and a teacup holding soup on the end table, but Fingon had a ritual when he ate, and he rarely ever deviated from the hierarchy of bread to salad to soup to main course to fruit to dessert. Unless there was cheese. Fingon loved cheese. Then all bets were off. “You usually wash in the mornings when Erestor and I do, but then you also do it before bed -- and then, sometimes, I notice that there is a damp towel when we get home, so that means you took another shower midday.” Fingon folded the bread in half, and the butter kept it stuck together - yet another ritual - before he meticulously peeled the crust from it in the thinnest layer possible. “Again, if that is your thing, or if you just like to be clean, I do not want you to be self-conscious about it. It just seems like—”

“It is a personal thing,” interrupted Glorfindel abruptly. 

Fingon nodded. “That part I figured out. The why is what I was trying to discover, but I can tell this is something you are not yet comfortable discussing with me.” He bit into his bread and picked up the small stack of mail that had been delivered earlier in the day.

Glorfindel continued to dry his hair as he studied Fingon. Fingon was engrossed in the correspondence and his dinner, or at least, pretended to be. “I need to feel clean.”

“Physically or psychologically?” Fingon did not look up from the letter held in his left hand. 

“I have my reasons.” Glorfindel slung the towel he used on his hair over one shoulder and picked up his comb from the nearby table. He lifted it up, but frowned at it, and left the room. Fingon looked up and turned his head, gaze following Glorfindel until he left the room, and then watched the doorway as the sound of splashing water was heard. “You have got to be kidding me,” muttered Fingon between nibbles until he finished the bread. He shook his head after nearly each spoonful of soup, and gathered the unopened letters in a neat pile, which was deposited on the table conveniently to the other side of the settee, lest any of his food ruin the correspondence. The splashing ceased, and Fingon settled back to drink the remaining broth and read the selected letter.

When Glorfindel entered again, Fingon did not look at the mail or his dinner. He did not say a word, either, as he serenely watched Glorfindel begin again the process of drying his mane. Following several minutes of silence, Glorfindel sighed and began to comb through his golden locks, until he could no longer ignore the watchful eyes upon him. “What?” This time, the word was a growled accusation.

Fingon replied with an accusation of his own. “You are not bathing. You are washing your hair,” said Fingon. Glorfindel blushed, but did not reply. “That would be why there is only one towel in the afternoon, but you usually use three.”

“Perhaps I only need one in the--”

“I just heard you,” scolded Fingon, but his voice was gentle. He licked at the side of his finger where some of the butter had oozed out of the bread. “And, you came out here to make a show of it with three towels, but only one of them was damp. You purposely wanted to prove you were bathing.” Fingon exchanged the empty cup for his entree. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Glorfindel stared with wide eyes and rosy cheeks at Fingon, and then made a hasty retreat. Fingon tossed the letter in his hand onto the seat next to him and returned his attention to dinner. 

A few minutes later, he was joined by Erestor. “Sorry, there were more eggs than I anticipated, and I had to find another basket. At least now we will not need to ration them.”

“No worries. I started eating. I did not think you would mind.” Fingon readjusted so that his legs were both drawn up to give Erestor room to join him. “I assume you and Glorfindel already had dinner?”

“I assume he did as well,” answered Erestor, who had with him a plate of dessert now that his chores were finished. This was set onto the table that contained the stack of letters, most of which were undoubtedly for Fingon. Kings -- even ex-Kings -- received a lot of mail. “He told me he ate early, so I had supper alone.”

After Erestor sat down and picked up the discarded letters to see who had written to Fingon this week, Fingon asked, “Do you know why Glorfindel washes his hair so much?”

“Maybe blond hair gets dirtier faster than dark hair does.” Erestor looked up when Fingon snorted. 

“You are either being facetious or dense, and I hope it is not the latter.”

Erestor moved the loose letter from the space between them and added it to the pile on the table, which allowed Fingon the ability to stretch out his legs and place his feet in Erestor’s lap. “I had blond hair for a little while,” he reminded Fingon. 

“And was it constantly dirty?” asked Fingon. Erestor shook his head. “So you were just fucking with me.”

“Eat your dinner,” advised Erestor.

This advice was only followed long enough for Fingon to chew and swallow a single piece of carrot. “Did he do this in Rivendell?”

Erestor was about to pick up his own plate, but he withdrew his hand and turned back to Fingon. “No. Not that I recall.”

“Did he do this after the two of you arrived in Valinor? Did I just miss it before?”

“No.” Erestor frowned. “Of course, now that you mention it… we are running out of soap faster than normal. And towels. We go through more towels now than we did when there were five of us here.”

Fingon rubbed his chin. “He never said anything to you?”

Erestor shook his head.

“Never came up?”

Erestor yawned and rubbed one of Fingon’s feet. “Did you ask him?”

“I did. He ran away.”

“Literally ran?” Erestor furrowed his brow.

“No, more of a…” Fingon stabbed at his vegetables. “He is sensitive. I should go apologize.” He ate a few more bites before he abandoned his bowl on the table.

Erestor waited until he was alone before he picked at his cherry and cheese pastry. This, too, was added to the table where the remnants of Fingon’s dinner were sitting. Erestor made sure all of the letters were safely on the other before he left in search of his companions.

The rooms on the first floor were few, and spacious, so it only took two peeks around doorways to find Glorfindel and Fingon. They were in the kitchen—Glorfindel sitting at the table, and Fingon standing across from him, hands on the back of a chair. “...and I did not mean to ruin your evening. Again, I am sorry.”

Glorfindel folded his hands and bowed his head. Several damp strands curled down to the top of the table and left wet streaks in their wake. Erestor walked to one of the two liquor cabinets and poured himself a drink. He carried the glass of amber liquid and the bottle back across the room to the table and sat down at the chair beside the one Fingon stood behind so that he could watch Glorfindel. Glorfindel spoke, but kept his eyes cast down at the table. “Sometimes, I am reminded of things - some recent, some from the past - that make me feel… whorish,” he settled on.

Fingon pulled the chair slowly away from the table so that he could join them. “How recent?” The tone of his voice changed. If Glorfindel named someone, it was likely Fingon had the intention of finding them for more than just conversation.

“Things Faelion did. Things Gildor did.” Glorfindel sighed. “I know - I am being ridiculous - neither of them are here, everything is over and done with now, I should just… get over it,” he muttered.

“No one here said that.” Fingon looked at Erestor. “Did you say that?”

Erestor shook his head and swirled his drink. “I know I would not suggest that. I know Fingon would not suggest that. But, Glorfindel, if there are things you want to talk about—nothing is going to be ridiculous.”

“And if you do not want to talk about them, that is fine,” said Fingon as he reached across the table and squeezed Glorfindel’s hands with his own. “We care about you an awful lot, Glorfindel. Now, while I have an overwhelming desire right now to find Gildor and Faelion and knock their heads together, I have a feeling what you need more right now is understanding and compassion from us. Obviously, it helps us to help you if we know what is going through your head, but either way, we are here for you.” When Fingon finished, Erestor reached over to cover his his hand over theirs and nodded in agreement.

When Glorfindel did not speak, nod, or even smile, Erestor cleared his throat. “I, uhm… I think I know what Gildor did to you. I thought he said what he did just to upset me, but…”

Glorfindel pulled his hands away and narrowed his eyes. They glinted dangerously as he stared at Erestor. “What did Gildor tell you?” he demanded.

Erestor sighed and rubbed his head. “He told me—Fingon, cover your ears.”

“Why?”

“Because—”

“You think I am going to throttle him if you reveal what he did?” demanded Fingon.

“It would be justified.” Glorfindel took a deep breath and let it out. “It was the hair thing?” 

“Yes.” Erestor squirmed in his chair. “The um… the thing he did… when… he…” Erestor’s voice was softer with each word. Fingon’s eyes appeared to have narrowed into no more than thin lines. Under scrutiny from both of them, Erestor lifted the glass and sipped to buy time.

“Ejaculated on it?” prodded Glorfindel.

“That,” confirmed Erestor in a whisper after he coughed on his drink.

“I was afraid that was where that was going.” FIngon had his own hands balled into fists. “What else did he do?”

“With my hair? He pulled it sometimes, but…” Glorfindel shrugged. “What he did just…” He shook his head. “At least he asked first. And we would always go under the waterfalls after, where he would wash it for me. It was… just a thing he did a few times. Faelion just did things without asking.”

Both Erestor and Fingon looked alarmed in their own way. “Am I going to want to kill Faelion?” Fingon drummed his fingers on the table when Glorfindel shrugged.

“What did he do, Fin?” Erestor leaned over the table to take hold of Glorfindel’s hand again. “Fin?”

“I never told him no, so…”

Fingon slammed a fist onto the table. Glorfindel flinched, and immediately, Fingon apologized. “It just… makes me so mad… I just feel like I should have known when he was here… or something…”

“My relationship with him was… wonderful, really. You know he can be sweet and gentle, but…” Glorfindel glanced at Erestor before he addressed Fingon again. “He… liked to experiment with things.”

“The part that is making me sick right now is that obviously he did something to you that was worse than asking about and then depositing semen in your hair, and that,” emphasized Fingon, “is what is causing me to want to get my hands around his throat right now.”

Glorfindel bowed his head. He kept one hand extended to Erestor, who cradled it in his own, and reached his other hand out to Fingon, who took hold of it. “My hair is so long—and strong, too—so… he…” Glorfindel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “He used it some nights to bind me to the bed. Or chairs or things like that.”

Both Erestor and Fingon squeezed Glorfindel’s hands at this revelation. “I am so sorry. I wish you had come to me about this,” said Erestor.

“I know, but…” Glorfindel’s voice cracked. “I left you… and then, I thought, I had to make things work, and…” He sniffled and shook his head, fighting tears. “And I thought, maybe it was not so bad…”

“Glorfindel hates bondage,” said Erestor quickly to Fingon in explanation. “We tried it a bit, and that was an idiot move on my part, but I… ahggh, I never should have, I knew it was--”

“What you did was… fluff,” Glorfindel settled on. “You… you were trying to make it fun. You were trying to include me in something you enjoy, not use me.”

“What else did he do?” prodded Fingon. Erestor frowned, but Fingon pressed on. “I am sorry, and I hate to make you think about it, but I just know that in comparison to what Gildor did to you, tying you down with your hair is probably not going to correlate to an obsession with washing it. If you… never wanted it touched or braided, then it makes sense. You used the word ‘whorish’, and I cannot believe this is the extent of that.”

Glorfindel withdrew his hands again. “Just… promise you are not going to kill him,” he said.

“My bark is worse than my bite,” admitted Fingon. “Unless you happen to be a dragon or something. Then I can actually be dangerous.”

“You, too.” Glorfindel looked up at Erestor.

“Fine,” answered Erestor after a moment. “But in my head, I am going to shoot arrows into his groin.”

“Fair enough.” Glorfindel took a deep breath and folded his hands in front of him. He stared at the top of the table and collected his thoughts. “I never said no, so he probably thought I enjoyed it. I tried to, at least, at first.” His words were shaky, and he took another breath and tried to rush through. “He did this thing sometimes where he would tightly braid my hair and use oil on it so that it was stiff and slick and…”

And that was as far as Glorfindel managed before he broke into sobs. Erestor came around the table and placed his arms around him, and kissed his head as he apologized and wept. “You do not have anything to be sorry for,” said Erestor. 

Fingon was still in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. “Now I certainly want to kill him,” he said.

“No… you… think… of… his… wife… and… the baby…” Glorfindel turned and burrowed against Erestor, who began to stroke his hair, and then just held him.

“Ahh, fuck.” Fingon rubbed his forehead. “Just because I want to does not mean I am going to. Besides, kinslaying—definitely still frowned upon. And right now, the most important thing is to be here for you, and to try to help you through this.”

“It just… it reminds me of it… what he did… they did…” Glorfindel used one of the towels to wipe his face. “I am fine for a few hours, but after that, I need to get it off me.”

“Fine. Then, yes, do that,” agreed Fingon. 

Glorfindel sniffled and nodded. “It makes me feel better.”

“Yes, temporarily. But if you want this feeling to go away, you do need to get rid of it.”

Glorfindel wiped his nose with the back of his hand and leaned against Erestor. “Not sure I--”

“Cut it.”

Glorfindel stilled immediately. “You cannot be serious.”

“Extremely.” Fingon steepled his hands, his elbows resting on the table. “Right now is the best time to do it. In all likelihood, your hair has completely grown out from the time you were with Gildor—and that does not seem to have affected you quite as much. What Faelion did is. He defiled you; you are trying to cleanse yourself, but sometimes, fire can do what water cannot.”

“You want me to burn it.” Glorfindel almost laughed at the conversation. “You want me to cut my hair and burn it.”

“I want to help free you from this self-imposed torment.” Fingon lifted his hands to motion with them. “You are clinging to something that is obviously upsetting you, and why? Because your name leads you to believe you are required to have golden hair kept long enough to braid. And no other reason than that.”

“I like my hair long,” argued Glorfindel.

“As you should. It looks splendid. But if someone did that to me, I would have hacked it off already. He touched you in a way that bothers you, and rightly so, and washing it constantly is not going to take the pain away. Neither will cutting it, but it may give you some peace. You will know that what he touched is no longer with you and no longer part of you. Burning it will make it final.”

Erestor pulled the chair that was next to Glorfindel out and sat on it, keeping a hand comfortingly on Glorfindel’s shoulder. Glorfindel shook his head slowly several times, and then said, “Fingon, if you do it, I will do it. You talk now and again about how the only way to keep your hair tamed is to braid it, but because Maedhros was the one who used to braid your hair, you hate doing that.”

“So?”

“So your predicament is similar to my own -- not as drastic, no, but you are still… bound to him by those damned braids.”

“So you will only cut your hair if I cut mine?” questioned Fingon.

Glorfindel nodded. He nodded very confidently.

Fingon reached over to the drink Erestor had discarded and downed it in two gulps. The glass was slammed back onto the table. “Done.”

Glorfindel blinked. “Wha...what?”

“Erestor, you witnessed this, yes?”

“I was really hoping I would be able to stay out of this,” admitted Erestor.

“Mine still has to be able to be pulled back in some fashion, though,” said Fingon. “I cannot have it in my face when I am riding.”

“You are serious,” realized Glorfindel.

Fingon placed two fingers against his temple and nodded. “Mmmhmm.”

Glorfindel brought his still damp hair around one shoulder and drew his fingers through the silky strands. His mouth twitched and he looked to Erestor for guidance.

Erestor touched the top of Glorfindel’s head and ran his hand down the golden locks. The muscles in Glorfindel’s shoulders tightened as Erestor’s hand traveled past them, and Erestor withdrew. “I think he has a point,” he said quietly.

Tears welled up in Glorfindel’s eyes. “But I love my hair.” The words were a solemn confession, and Erestor held Glorfindel tighter. Fingon nodded, but otherwise kept his emotions masked. “How can you be so calm about this?” insisted Glorfindel.

“Oh, no, I am… you know that thing that you feel for excitement, but, the bad one?”

“Fear?” offered Erestor. “Apprehension? Uncertainty?”

“Sure, go with that,” said Fingon. “I am positive that this is a terrible choice on my part, but… here is the thing, Glorfindel. If I cut my hair, the worst outcome I can think of right now is that I will grumble when I want to do something fancy with it and run out before I finish. But for you—this is a real problem. So if doing this with you helps you get there—then, here I am. You can even cut mine first,” he offered. A moment later, he rubbed his chest. “Mmm, there that feeling is again. Yes, pretty sure that is fear—so infrequent, I forget what it is sometimes.”

“I had to cut my hair a few times in Gondolin,” recalled Glorfindel, still stroking his hair. “It was caught in a drain once, and another time it was burned badly.”

“When was it—oh.” Erestor suddenly remembered and frowned.

“What?” prodded Fingon. “What happened?”

“Nirnaeth,” said Erestor.

“Ah.” Fingon got up and went to the cellar door, leaving Erestor to comfort and cuddle Glorfindel. Fingon opened it, but only reached to the nearest shelf and retrieved a bottle. “That.” He returned and pulled the cork out of the bottle. “Well, no one is forcing you. It was just a suggestion.” He drank from the bottle and set it down as he joined them at the table again. “It certainly will make my life easier if you decide not to.”

“Are you really trying reverse psychology on me?” asked Glorfindel.

“No,” replied Fingon. “Unless it works, and in that case, then yes.”

“Well, it is not working,” declared Glorfindel.

“Well, good,” said Fingon flippantly. “I really like my hair, and I would hate to have it short.”

Glorfindel narrowed his eyes at Fingon. “Is that… reverse reverse psychology?”

Fingon shrugged. “Is THAT working?” he asked.

“My name is Glorfindel,” said Glorfindel with a mild amount of frustration.

“And mine is ‘Hair Commander’. Wait, actually, I wonder if that means I should be able to get other people to do things with their hair. I always considered it was just about me.” Fingon tilted the liquor glass that was nearly empty to get the few remaining droplets from it before he returned to the bottle of wine. “Look, Glorfindel, you are a scientist, right?”

“More of an amateur inventor and occasional mathematician,” he answered after a brief pause.

“I have noticed that you understand scientific concepts better than a lot of people, though. Do you know what washing your hair this often has done to it?”

Glorfindel still had some to the side that he was stroking, and he stopped to lift it up and look at it.

“Every time you wash your hair, you wash away the natural oil in it. That does need to be done, but not necessarily every day, and certainly not multiple times in a day,” explained Fingon. “With the frequency of washing -- how many times do you on average?”

“Five or six,” whispered Glorfindel. Erestor cringed a bit. “Why?”

Fingon licked his lips and ran his hand over his chin a few times. It was something that Glorfindel and Erestor had both seen Gil-Galad do in Lindon at meetings, and had the tone not been so serious, Glorfindel might have smiled. “Glorfindel, you are ruining it—you may have already damaged it beyond repair. I could tell that it was lacking in its usual shine, but it will start to fray at the ends, and become brittle and break off. Once that happens, it is difficult to impossible to repair.”

Glorfindel looked to Erestor, and Erestor nodded. “Your hair is not the same as it used to be, not the majority of it. The part on the top of your head, which you were probably not scrubbing as much, is also nearer to where the oils are, so some of it is still…” Erestor ran his fingers over Glorfindel’s hair. “It feels fine up here, but…” Erestor moved his hand past Glorfindel’s neck. “This is where it starts to feel dry and thinner.” Erestor drew up some of it and displayed it to Glorfindel. “You can see where it is splitting and fraying. Even if you keep it long, you need to cut it back to try to make it healthy again, and when I say that, I do not mean just a trim.” 

“Shit.” Glorfindel ran his fingers down through the length of it. When he pulled it up to keep going, several strands broke off and caught on his fingers or fell to the floor. “I just wanted to stop feeling dirty,” he said.

“How do you feel right now?” asked Fingon.

“Like I want to wash it again,” admitted Glorfindel.

“All of it, or just the part that Faelion and Gildor--”

“It was not Gildor. Everything Gildor and I did I agreed to.” Glorfindel folded his hands on the table and looked down at them. “Compared to Faelion, Gildor was a gentleman.” He chewed at his lip, and then added, “Sometimes, I think I evoke his name because I know that both of you will already have negative feelings about him, and that way, I can cover up whatever is really going on.”

“I am proud of you for admitting that,” recognized Fingon. “I hope that in the future you will not continue to do that. So, now that we have established that it is really Faelion’s actions that are upsetting you—is it the part he did things to, or all of it? Please be honest. We only want to help you.”

“Let me ask in a different way,” suggested Erestor when Glorfindel only shook his head and sighed. “Glorfindel, if you cut it… here,” he suggested, placing his hand on the back of Glorfindel’s neck, “would you still feel compelled to wash it?”

“Not constantly,” he said.

Erestor moved his hand between Glorfindel’s shoulder blades, “What about here?”

Glorfindel shrugged. “Not sure.”

“Here?” asked Erestor, and Glorfindel nearly jumped when he felt Erestor’s hand lower on his back. Erestor withdrew his hand. “Maybe if you think of it not so much as the end of something as it is the beginning of starting over, it might not seem final, but more like something fresh and new.”

“And my offer still stands,” said Fingon. “I will even go first if you decide to do this.”

“If—IF—I decide to, I just have to do it right away, or I will end up changing my mind,” reasoned Glorfindel.

“Fair enough,” said Fingon. “So what do you want to do?”

Glorfindel tapped his fingers on the table for a moment. “I want to go into the great room, and sit awhile with both of you, and share a bottle of wine. I…” He looked at Erestor to make his second request. “I want you to find sharp scissors and one of my combs and bring them to the room, but put them somewhere out of sight.” Erestor nodded to the request. “Fingon, will you bring the wine? I just… I need a few moments alone.”

Fingon nodded and stood up. “Of course.” He and Erestor left the room and walked together down the hallway until they had to part to complete their tasks. 

Erestor grabbed hold of Fingon’s wrist. “He is going to do it,” he whispered. Fingon nodded. “You must keep your promise, then. I know that sometimes you say things to get other people to do things, and then try to get them not to focus on whatever you said you were going to do. This is not like that. Glorfindel will feel tricked if you try to sneak out of it, and he will never trust you again. I will never trust you again,” Erestor added sharply.

Fingon nodded with a little frown. “I will do whatever necessary to help him.”


	2. Who Needs a Lover That Cannot Be a Friend?

“If I do this,” said Glorfindel following the second rosy glass of wine, “I cannot burn it. I have a lot of problems with fire.”

It was the first time that the subject was brought up by any of them in over an hour. Fingon was on his second glass as well, while Erestor was still nursing his first, which he had watered down to a pale pink. “What do you want to do with your hair if you decide to cut it?” Erestor asked. He and Fingon had distanced themselves from Glorfindel and each other, as Glorfindel opted upon entering the room to sit alone in his favorite chair. The conversation had been very casual, and lead by Fingon, who managed to have them discuss uninteresting topics at length while dancing around the issue at hand. In the distance, the faint sound of the diurnal tide bell rang three times. It was otherwise quiet; the cats were out in the barn or hunting, and the dog was sleeping under the table still holding the remnants of Fingon’s discarded supper.

Glorfindel shrugged. “I do not want to keep it around, either, if that is what you are asking.”

“Fair,” said Fingon. “What if you bury it?”

Erestor seemed about to object, but Glorfindel nodded. “That might work. If I decide to,” he added quickly, and the other two nodded.

Fingon waited to judge whether or not Glorfindel had more to say, and when he did not, began to open his mouth again with a new topic, but Erestor spoke first. “If you do that, I think I know where you could bury it. Not where on the property,” he corrected himself. “The thing to bury it—hold on.” He placed his glass of wine on the table and left the room. Neither Fingon nor Glorfindel spoke while waiting for Erestor to return, which he did in short order. “I think it would fit in here,” he said.

It was a wooden box made of cedar, with images carved on it. It was not Elven in make, but carried a mark of a woodworker in Breetown on the bottom. It was intended to be used as a scholar’s case, with places for ink, quills, paper, and magnifiers to be kept, but none of these would be found within. One of the hinges was broken, and the others instantly knew what the box had been used for. “I should be able to bury my demons, too,” said Erestor.

“Is there anything left in here?” wondered Fingon as he reached for the box once Erestor set it on the table. “Oh… huh.” He pushed a few things around and moved slightly to the right when Glorfindel stood up and came to join him on the settee. There were various small, thin pieces of dulled metal the size of playing card and a cloth pouch with silk lining, out of which fine white powder spilled when it was disturbed. “I expected it to be empty.” There were a few other items in the box as well, and Fingon examined these as one would a cache of ancient artifacts, all while keeping his fingers from making contact with the powdery substance.

Erestor stretched out on the benches under the alcove of windows. There were a copious amount of mismatching cushions there, and he settled on his back with his head against most of them. He pulled one at random from the pile -- once red but now faded, with golden tassles at three corners and stuffing coming out of the third --and hugged it to his chest. “I found some about two years ago when I was going through boxes of things I had yet to unpack. Initially I thought I would put it in there and throw it away later. Never threw it away.”

“Did you use any of it?” asked Glorfindel cautiously.

Erestor nodded. “I had a little a few weeks after I found it, but it was not enough to do anything. About a month later, I had a little more, and I was so sick that weekend.”

“Was that when you blamed the cow for your bloody nose?” asked Fingon as he rearranged the items inside the box to make space for what was to come later.

“Poor cow. She never did a thing. I never told you the truth because I…”

“Thought I would be pissed?” Fingon shrugged. “I hate to see you do it, but we all have our vices. Some are just more deadly than others.”

Erestor stopped making eye contact and stared up at the cracks in the ceiling. “I put the box away and tried to forget about it. Eighteen… nineteen months, though,” he said. “That has to count for something.”

“Are you sure you want to do this? Coca is really hard to give up,” said Fingon. “I knew some older athletes who chewed the leaves before meets because they lacked the energy to make it through. I always told myself if I got to that point, I would need to resign. It was not that I held it against them to use it, but every single one I knew just kept on using it later. They probably still do, so I would not fault you if you continued.” 

“I need to stop.” Erestor tossed the pillow aside and sat up. He stretched to retrieve his glass, but did not drink. “I started using that stuff whenever I had a problem. So far, it managed to cause more problems than it solved.”

“Did it ever actually solve a problem?” wondered Fingon.

“Nope.” Erestor looked as though he was going to drain his goblet, but he leaned forward mid-drink and spat the wine back in. “Neither did this,” he said to himself, and he abandoned his glass on a counter across the room. 

“So you think this is it, then? I really respect that if you do,” said Fingon. “I also recognize the difficulty. I know you tried more than once to stop. I think moral support helps, but I do not want to be a nuisance, nor do I want to neglect your needs to be successful. If you need something, or are frustrated, and feel like the only thing that will make it bearable is coca, will you come to us?”

“I already do,” said Erestor.

“Will you come to us before you have the urge to snort things up your nose, drink yourself blind, or punch a hole through a wall?” asked Fingon sweetly.

Erestor tilted his head and nearly glared at Fingon. His expression softened when Fingon batted his eyelashes and blew Erestor a kiss. “You take all the fun out of my anger management,” he replied.

“I believe we have vastly different ideas as to the definition of that phrase,” Fingon countered.

Glorfindel rearranged the items in the box to retrieve something from the bottom as they talked. When he had the object in his possession, he appeared ready to close it, but hesitated, “It seems too nice a box to bury.”

“Every coffin I ever saw was too nice a box to bury,” said Fingon, and immediately, he shook his head. “Sorry. That was--”

“Accurate.” Glorfindel covered his mouth to belch and excused himself. “This means a lot, Erestor. To have you do this.”

Erestor nodded. “It seems a meager sacrifice on my part.”

The item Glorfindel retrieved was a mirror, unfinished along the edges and sporting a small crack that curved up from one corner and ran off the side. Glorfindel lifted it up and peered into it. “I could barely look at myself during those years following the war. I avoided every mirror in Gondolin until it grew out again. I looked terrible when I had short hair.”

“You did not, and it grew out fairly fast,” countered Erestor. “My hair is so flat - I looked terrible. Yours bounces. It is… spirited. If you do cut it, this is by choice. You can have it as long or short as you want. It had to be cropped short in Gondolin because the smell was awful and it was literally singed and falling out.”

“I have never had short hair.” This was from Fingon who looked over Glorfindel’s shoulder into the mirror. “The length of my hair has consistently been between ‘you are sitting on it’ and ‘hey, there, young maiden, you are… oh, sorry, not a young maiden’. This was a problem growing up, because on more than one occasion, I had the misfortune of falling asleep in a common area and waking to find I was tethered there by my braids. I suspect Celegorm was involved.”

“I just… I feel…” Glorfindel set the mirror down. “I still want to look pretty. I want to… be… you know…” He blushed. “Sexy to both of you…”

Erestor snorted. “Your hair is not a requirement of that,” he said. “First of all, you look adorable no matter what length your hair is. Secondly, you are most certainly desirable. Third, and this is the biggest thing, you should not give two fucks what we want—you need to do what is going to make you happy and safe and rid you of these negative thoughts.”

Fingon put an arm around Glorfindel and kissed his cheek. “You are still going to be you. Same sparkling blue-green eyes, same bashful smile. You are still going to be the best cuddler I know, consistently kick my ass at chess, and smell like cookies,” he added, and Glorfindel laughed at that. “At the same time, I am not going to pressure you. You are the only one who can decide when it is the right time—if it is the right time. If not, then we just learn how to make our own soap and buy more towels.”

Glorfindel closed the box. “We should go to a room that can be swept. I do not want bits of hair all over the rug.”

“I put the scissors in the washroom,” piped up Erestor. “Your comb is there, too.”

Fingon took the box and placed in on the table, where his neglected dinner and the crusty remainder of Erestor’s dessert had been left. “Do you want us to come with you, or did you want to—”

“Like hell I am doing this by myself.”

“Fair enough.” Fingon stood up, and was followed soon after by Erestor. Glorfindel was still seated. “Oh… you did not mean right—”

“How short are you going to cut yours?”

“Oh, right. I almost forgot about that.” Fingon shrugged. “Shorter than what I can sit on, at least.”

“So it has always been to your waist?” 

“To my knees actually. Or longer. But I braid it, right, so it seems not quite as long, but, here…” Fingon unraveled one of his long braids. When he was done, he turned so that Glorfindel could compare the hair that flowed down his back and pooled onto the floor with the braids still bound around his loose hair. The ends of the braids barely kissed the carpet. “Good thing I can braid it fast, or all I would do all day is braid, braid, braid.”

“How many braids do you have?” wondered Glorfindel. 

“A lot?” Fingon was already rebraiding the part he had taken down, his fingers weaving back and forth with great skill. “A lot. And conveniently, the strands all stay in place when I do braid them.”

“I was going to offer to cut yours if you cut mine, but honestly, I think after a dozen I would start to feel queasy about what I was doing to you,” admitted Glorfindel.

Fingon shrugged. “Neither of you could hear it, but I was talking myself into it in my head as we were sitting around.”

“I could hear it,” said Erestor, who was now clutching the box the way he had held the pillow. A bit of white powder floated down from where the hinge was broken, and Glorfindel reached over to tilt the box a bit so that nothing more spilled forth.

“Anyhow,” continued Fingon as he ignored Erestor, “I think we need to do it ourselves—it would be more therapeutic and meaningful that way. Also, we know our own limits.”

Glorfindel frowned a little, but then he nodded. “That makes sense.” 

When none of them made any further moves, Fingon grasped a handful of braids and drew them around to examine them. “Shit, these are heavier than I expected,” he noted. He pulled them up so that they would appear to end at his waist, and then, a little higher than that. “To me, this is short,” he said, and then he let them go to swing and sway. “If I only cut them there, though, that still makes my hair longer than Erestor’s.”

Glorfindel nodded. “You can leave yours the way it is, Fingon. I understand.”

“No, no -- hear me out,” he said. “I already talked myself into this, remember? I want you to decide how long -- or short -- it should be.”

“Are you sure?” asked Glorfindel.

Fingon nodded. “This can be our… crazy fun bonding experience,” he suggested.

“Definitely crazy. Not sure about fun yet.” Glorfindel drank the remainder of his wine and set down the empty glass. “Do you think we can all fit in the washroom down here?”

“That seems the most logical place. If we can all bathe in there together, I think we can do this. Especially if we push the wash tub into a corner.” Fingon stepped back to allow Glorfindel the ability to lead.


	3. Nobody Else Has the Power to Make You Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think Nimlock summed it up best in their beta notes with "A+ Erestor" and "OMG THIS IS HAPPENING". (Runner Up: "THE GAZE OF SILENT JUDGEMENT") 
> 
> Of course it's happening. The boys might be, but I am not one to string along with tags like those.
> 
> Enjoy!

They had been staring at each other for a while now - well, not quite directly at each other. They were all standing in front of the mirror, and looking at either their own reflection, or the reflection of one of the others. The room was dim, for even had it been day, there was but one tiny window near the ceiling. Erestor finally let out an awkward cough and said, “I am going to get a stool and another candle and sit in the corner and be here for… moral support… or something…” He meandered out of the room, clearly not in a rush to return.

While Fingon spent the time looking at himself from different angles, trying to gauge how he might look with his hair at different lengths, Glorfindel avoided more than momentary glances. He seemed more interested in how sharp the blade of the scissors was or whether or not the tub, which they moved to the corner of the room, was stable resting on its edge against the wall. When Erestor did return, the same thing was going on, except Glorfindel did turn to look at Erestor before he looked back in the mirror. “Maybe I should wash it once more…”

Fingon slowly shifted his gaze to his right. “How many times would that be today?”

Glorfindel felt the tip of his nose and his cheeks heat up before he saw his blush in the mirror. “I lost count.”

“Here.” Fingon slid the scissors on the counter away from Glorfindel, but then held them up to him. “Go ahead. You can cut the first one,” he said, and he held one of his many adorned braids horizontal. 

“Oh… I mean…”

“I told you I would go first,” he said. 

Glorfindel examined the braid. “How short do you want it?”

“Surprise me,” suggested Fingon. “I told you I would let you make that decision. I trust you. Erestor, maybe not so much,” he teased.

Erestor opened his mouth to say something, but immediately shook his head and continued to sit quietly to the side.

“Are you sure?” Glorfindel adjusted his grip on the scissors and tested them twice in the air. 

The sound of blade against blade made Fingon draw his breath in sharply, but he kept the braid aloft. “Absolutely. Do make sure you leave some hair on my head, honey,” warned Fingon.

Glorfindel reached out to hold the braid as well. He tried to measure with his hand, and obviously intended to make the first cut a bit shy of midway. Fingon had been holding the braid tightly, so that it created a nearly perfect horizontal line. Glorfindel held the braid much looser, so that it hung down naturally, and then curved back up to where he intended to make the first cut. He opened the scissors, hesitated, drew in a breath, and bit his lip before he lowered the scissors and measured again.

Fingon crooked a finger at Erestor, who stood up and joined them. When Erestor was close enough, Fingon took hold of his hand. “The anticipation in here is murder,” he joked, his hand trembling in Erestor’s grasp.

“Sorry,” whispered Glorfindel as he lowered the shears again. “I am nervous. I do not want to ruin your hair.”

“Just go ahead,” coaxed Fingon, sounding quite relaxed. Out of Glorfindel’s view, Fingon was digging his fingernails into Erestor’s palm, and Erestor, for his part, was perfectly still and silent. “There is so much there, you are not going to ruin anything.”

Glorfindel nodded and appeared more confident as he lifted the braid up again and slid the blade underneath. As he squeezed the handle, Fingon squeezed his eyes shut. “Your hair is really thick,” Glorfindel commented as he opened and closed the scissors several times in an attempt to detach the one he was holding. In the candlelit room, it was difficult for any of them to see how he was doing, with shadows dancing over midnight locks. Only the golden threads gave much indication of what was going on as the light played against them. Over and over, they listened to the gnashing of the metal blades, fighting to chew through the thick plaits and sate the hunger of the scissors. “This is taking a lot longer than I expected.”

“Uh… Fin… just a… stop a moment.” Erestor kept hold of Fingon’s hand, and at the same time placed the other on Glorfindel’s hand to get him to pause. 

“What?” Glorfindel examined the braid in his hand. It was still partially attached. “What happened?”

“Uh…” Erestor was obviously distracted by something on the floor. “Uh… finish that, and then--”

 

“Then what?” asked Glorfindel, who had all but frozen.

“Just… finish that--” but Erestor was cut off as Fingon turned his head and gave him a demanding look.

“Erestor…” Fingon narrowed his eyes, and then grimaced. “Oww! Fin!”

“Sorry!” Glorfindel found that the loose golden thread caught between the blades and pulled at the hair still attached to Fingon’s head. To alleviate the issue, Glorfindel hastily finished cutting off the braid he held. “Alright. Erestor, what is wrong?”

Erestor looked between his two companions. He slowly let go of Fingon’s hand, which was steady now. “I just want to remind you both that it is bad luck to shoot the messenger.”

“Oh, that sounds bad,” remarked Fingon as Erestor crouched down to retrieve something from the floor. In his grasp were several more severed braids. “Alright, so he cut a few ex--” Fingon’s mouth stayed open, but sounds stopped as Erestor found the end of one of them and held it up to show it was far longer than what Glorfindel had intended. 

“Glorfindel, you were concentrating so much on just that one, you did not notice that the scissors got around a few more,” explained Erestor as Fingon reached out and took hold of one of the braids to examine it. “You cut that one about midway, but these others--” 

“Oh… oh, fuck!” Glorfindel let go of the scissors and the braid he held. The scissors clattered to the floor, along with what looked like a long black rope adorned with shimmery threads. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeated as he covered his mouth.

Fingon was trying to see in the mirror what Glorfindel had done. Erestor nudged Glorfindel out of the way and came to stand behind Fingon. “Stand up straight,” he directed to Fingon, and Fingon did so. Erestor sorted through the mass of braids to find the ones that were shorter than the others. “Well, here, it stops about there,” he said, and he pressed his fingers against Fingon’s back, just between his shoulder blades. “When you unravel them, your hair will probably be a little longer -- but it certainly is shorter than mine now.” 

“Oh.” Fingon reached around to gather his braids and lift them, trying to get an idea of things to come. “Hmm.”

“I am so sorry,” apologized Glorfindel as he bent down to retrieve the scissors. He stood up to find himself facing Fingon. “I should have been more careful! I never meant to--”

Erestor took a step back to give the other two—now locked in an embrace, Fingon fervently kissing Glorfindel—a wee bit more space. “I think he forgives you, Fin,” said Erestor when Fingon broke the kiss.

“Already ancient history.” Fingon kissed Glorfindel’s nose and then tapped his own against Glorfindel’s. “Your move,” he encouraged.

The scissors were still held by Glorfindel, and he turned to face the mirror again. “Maybe you should finish first.”

“Do you want me to?” Fingon held out his hand, but Glorfindel kept hold of the scissors.

“If I do this, people are going to look at me,” Glorfindel said.

Fingon placed his hand upon Glorfindel’s shoulder. “I have news for you, honey. People already look. And stare. I know. I constantly have to glare back. And mouth at them ‘He is mine’.” Behind him, Erestor cleared his throat. “Ours,” Fingon corrected, though he pretended to be irritated. “But if I say ‘ours’ they might think I mean them and myself.”

“Fair point,” conceded Erestor.

Fingon returned to Glorfindel. “Besides, no one is going to look at you the way you think they are going to look at you. All of those thoughts are going to be directed at me,” Fingon said confidently.

“Oh?” Glorfindel appeared slightly curious in the mirror.

Fingon slid his arm around Glorfindel. “I have to braid my hair so it does not take over. You both know Aredhel. You have seen what her hair looks like.” 

Glorfindel tried to recall. Erestor was already biting his thumb and trying to suppress mirth that he knew he would be playfully punished for later.

Fingon lifted his hands up and motioned around his head. “She has the big, floofy, untamed looking hair.”

“Oh, right,” said Glorfindel, and then it hit him. “If you do not braid your hair--”

“Right. There will be a whole lot of… this…” said Fingon as he motioned around his head. “So trust me when I say no one is going to look at your golden head and beautiful curls. Well, they will, actually, but in a complimentary sort of way.”

“There are things you can do for it, though,” said Erestor. “Oils and lotions and things like that. You could also still braid your hair, or pull it back.”

Fingon turned to face Erestor, hands on his hips. “I know, but there is still going to be a day when the humidity is high, and I do nothing, or I take a nap and forget, and then--”

>Snick<

The sound caused them to pause their banter and look at the mirror. There was Glorfindel, staring at himself. In his right hand, the scissors. In his left, a long clump of golden hair. “Keep talking,” he said quietly when it was evident they were looking.

“Uhm… so…” Erestor looked at Fingon and raised his brows and then kicked him lightly.

“Hmm? Oh! Uh…” Fingon crossed his arms over his chest and took a deep breath. “So time is really… weird, right? I mean, when we were all children, a year was longer then than it is now.”

Glorfindel picked up the comb and drew it through his hair. He managed to get midway before he drew his hand back as if he had been burned. The scissors were carefully set down on the counter, and he proceeded to wash the comb with soap -- twice -- and thoroughly dried it before he used it again. This time, his hand slowed as it passed his shoulder, and he stood still, scrutinizing his reflection. It seemed he was going to move the comb lower, but his other hand jerked forward and he grabbed the scissors. Without nearly as much care as he had taken with Fingon, he attacked the golden curtain that hung beyond the barrier of the comb. >Snick<

“How so?” asked Erestor.

“Well, at that time, a year was a large portion of our entire life - at ten, it was ten percent of the total time we lived.” Fingon glanced at the mirror, where Glorfindel was frozen again. He gave Erestor a prodding look.

Erestor tried to keep his gaze on Fingon, but he found it wandered back to the mirror over and over. He caught a movement, and saw Fingon raise his brows expectantly at him. Conversation was difficult -- Erestor knew Glorfindel long enough to know his tells, and the tense shoulders, lips pressed together, and twitch of his jaw kept Erestor on guard should Glorfindel suddenly need him. He was barely even aware of what the conversation was about, and so he simply said, “I see.”

>Shhnick<

“So the younger we were, the greater in length a year was, compared to now.” Fingon cleared his throat. When he received no response, he added, “That means that now, years are really short, and so are seasons.”

“Right, but… Fingon, years really were longer when we were children. Now, the total number of minutes of a year is negligible compared to that of a year living in the light of the trees.”

“Erestor. Stop being an ass, darling. You completely understand my concept,” disputed Fingon. “But, for a cat, for example, time passes much, much faster because they have a finite amount of time.”

>Snick - Snick - Snick< The comb was abandoned, and Glorfindel now reached around to pull the rest of the hair on his left side over his shoulder. Much of it swung to varying lengths from his shoulder to his chin. He tightened his hold around what was left and cut slowly and carefully, so as not to miss a single strand. >Shhnp - Snick - Shhhnnick<

Erestor took a step to the side in an attempt to avoid shuffling through the growing piles of hair on the floor. “I would not know if that was the case. I have never been a cat.”

“But you definitely are being an ass,” Fingon declared.

Glorfindel set the scissors down on the counter and drew his fingers through his hair, testing the length of it. Without the great mass to weigh it down, there was more curl and volume to what was left. He had not even touched the right side or the back yet, and he looked at Erestor. “Can you help me when I finish? I want it to look… not like I just hacked it all off.”

“Of course, sweetheart, of course.” Erestor shifted closer and wrapped his arms around Glorfindel from behind and kissed his cheek before he moved away again.

Glorfindel turned his head to the right to get a better idea of what he had done so far. He pulled the remaining long hair over his right shoulder to keep it out of view. Without the distraction of the longer, uncut hair, he now stared at his reflection, so different than he had appeared a few minutes ago. His chin trembled and tears began to roll down his cheeks.

“You are so pretty,” said Fingon as soon as he noticed, and he closed in and nuzzled Glorfindel’s jaw. “Look at how this curls, like spun gold - do you know how many people spend hours a day trying to get their hair to do this? Look at what you were hiding here,” he said, and he tilted Glorfindel’s chin. “You have beautiful angles to your features - your jaw, your cheeks. Look at these freckles!” he exclaimed. He pressed a finger to one before he kissed it. “I never noticed how star-kissed your skin is! I am going to name all of them,” promised Fingon. Through his tears, Glorfindel gave half a laugh. “And these eyes - gorgeous! Just like the sea on a summer day. I could get lost in these eyes,” he murmured as he stared into them. When Glorfindel only swallowed hard and did not reply, Fingon hissed at Erestor, “Quick! Throw a line to me before I drown!” 

Glorfindel smiled and sniffled. He nodded and brushed the back of his hand across his cheeks Still, he said nothing. Fingon lifted his hand again and tilted Glorfindel’s chin up with one finger, while bending his own head down to kiss him until he relaxed and stopped crying. “Do you want me to do mine for awhile?” he asked, but Glorfindel shrugged a shoulder. “Do you want to take a break?” he asked. “I can open another bottle of wine.” Glorfindel shook his head. 

Erestor stepped forward again, joining them on Glorfindel’s right side. He pushed the curtain of hair that was still there over Glorfindel’s shoulder and nuzzled against his cheek. After he kissed his jaw, he nosed at his ear and said in a low voice between nibbles on his lobe and the tip of his ear, “I remember in Gondolin… there were some nights… I wanted to do things… things with you…” He lifted a hand up and ran his fingers through the shorter hair as Fingon retreated. “Things I want you to do to me. We can pretend… to have that chance…”

Fingon leaned in and started with, “And I can pretend--- no. Never mind. Forget it.” He picked up the scissors and examined them.

“What?” demanded Glorfindel.

“Bad idea. Blame the wine. Tell you later.”

Erestor licked Glorfindel’s ear, and Fingon’s comment was forgotten for now. Glorfindel made a contented noise and turned his head to kiss Erestor. 

“So, speaking of cats,” piped up Fingon, “What was the weirdest cat you met?”

Glorfindel rolled his eyes as he separated from Erestor and grabbed the scissors away from Fingon. He shook his head and began to crop his hair again, only this time, he started to talk to fill the silence. His words, slow at first, came quicker with each cut. As he spoke faster, he tended to his task at the same speed. “Most of the cats I meet are weird. The ones who run off are the normal ones.” It seemed he barely looked at what he cut, just that he wanted -- needed -- to remove it with haste. The pile of hair at his feet grew so that it hid his ankles completely, and still, more and more clumps of hair fell. “I figured out how to speak to them a long time ago, so whenever one of them approaches me, those are the ones with interesting stories to tell.” He suddenly gathered up the rest of the long hair and fought with the scissors to chew through it. He grunted and struggled to be sure that nothing hung past his shoulders, until he was left abruptly with several feet less of it still attached to his head. All of it was extremely uneven, cut at odd lengths and angles, and he held out the scissors to Erestor as he exhaled and rolled his neck. “This is the strangest sort of therapy.”

“Nothing is strange if it works,” said Erestor as he reached for the scissors. 

“What about me?” pouted Fingon.

Glorfindel held the scissors out to Fingon. 

Fingon flinched. “Oh, no, actually, I have no problem waiting.”

Glorfindel moved them back the other way, but Fingon caught his wrist. “On second thought-”

“There is another pair.” Erestor opened a drawer in a small cabinet and took them out.

“Oh. Convenient,” commented Fingon. He was in possession of the second pair in short order. “Thank you.”

“Do you need me to sit down?” asked Glorfindel as Erestor circled him.

Erestor shook his head. “I have enough height on you to do this standing up. Do you just want it straight across the back?”

“Not really. That seems boring.” He reached out to squeeze Erestor’s hand. “I trust you,” he said before he let go and tried to stand still.

Erestor nodded and began to trim away excess bits to tidy things up and other strands in an attempt to style what was left and keep it as long as he could. 

Fingon studied the scissors he held and glanced after a moment to what Erestor and Glorfindel were doing. “What happened at the end there?” he asked.

“Oh…” Glorfindel shrugged, but Erestor steadied his arms to remind him of what was going on, and he stayed very still. “I just suddenly felt like the more I cut, the closer the feelings were creeping up on me. If I did not get rid of everything Faelion touched right then, it felt those feelings would have managed to make it to my scalp, and just burrowed right into my head forever. I know. That sounds silly.”

“Not really. And you won, right?” asked Fingon as he played with the scissors he held.

Glorfindel made an affirmative gesture. Erestor carefully shaped with small snips. “I am trying to keep your hair as long as possible, but there is one part back here where you cut it awfully high. Is it alright if your neck is exposed?”

“Exposed neck. Sound delightfully dirty,” remarked Fingon.

“That would be fine,” confirmed Glorfindel, and Erestor picked up the comb. He trimmed numerous tufts away, until it was not only evened up, but decidedly short. Glorfindel reached around to rub the back of his neck. “Is this staying?” he asked as he grasped some of the fine curls at his nape and lifted them to the side.

“Do you want them to?” 

Glorfindel rubbed the back of his neck again and turned his head to the side to catch a glimpse in the mirror. “It looks unkempt with the rest so short.”

“If you tell me where you are keeping your razor, I can shave them off. If I trim them, you are going to have little bristles back there,” said Erestor.

“I think it is in this drawer here,” he said, and he tapped the second one from the bottom with his toes.

Erestor set the scissors and comb on the counter and stooped down to investigate. Within the drawer were a variety of tools, including a strange contraption that looked a bit like a compass. Next to that was what appeared to be a long handle, but Erestor had seen it before on many occasions. “So it is,” he answered as he took the razor and unfolded it to check the blade. It was sharp, and he nicked his finger, but he said nothing of it as he stood and set the razor on the counter. He combed Glorfindel’s hair with his uninjured hand, and resumed the task of tidying it up once his finger stopped bleeding. It did not take him terribly long to finish with the scissors. He turned to Fingon before he retrieved the razor. “Is something wrong with that pair?” he asked when he saw that Fingon was still twirling it around by the handle.

“No. Just with me,” admitted Fingon. “Strangest kind of cat I know is the scaredy cat.” He shook his head. “This would turn out to be my fear. Until now, I thought I was immune to this nonsense. I am really fucking scared to have my hair cut.”

“I would suggest you wait,” said Erestor as he set the razor back onto the counter, “but I think that… mmm…” Searching for a phrase other than ‘that ship already sailed’, Erestor frowned when he saw the forlorn look in Fingon’s eyes. “I guess we could try to braid the ones that were cut off back to the ends or something. Or you could just gather them together and maybe no one would notice the missing ones.”

Glorfindel closed the gap between Fingon and himself. He took the scissors away from Fingon and set the pair quietly on the counter. Gently, he took hold of Fingon’s hands and placed them on either side of his own face, then drew their hands up together into the short golden locks. “There is nothing to fear,” he said comfortingly. “Look at what you helped me do. You are going to feel so much liberation -- so much freedom. You are the bravest person I know. You do not belong to him -- stop letting him control you. Break these chains -- free yourself. You can do this, Fingon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: He Must Have Known That You Would Never Leave Him


	4. He Must Have Known That You Would Never Leave Him

“Not sure I can do this exactly,” he said, which was followed by, “Mmm, your hair is so nice and soft.” He bent his head and snuzzled Glorfindel’s hair. “I actually love to see other people with short hair,” he admitted as he wound a golden tress around his finger. “It is so much more interesting than boring blah long hair. Long hair mostly looks the same - all weighed down, no personality. This is so cute, and fluffy, and fun!” He let his hands slide away. “As predicted, honey, you look adorable. I, on the other hand, am going to look terrible when I do this. Untamed frizzy hair jutting out all over the place. The nagging voice in my head is advising running away now.”

Erestor bent down and picked up one of the long errant braids on the floor. “Need I remind you, you already started -- and you now have a fairly visible clump of them missing. Visible in that when you turned I could see the back of your tunic, so ignore my earlier suggestions to try to repair it in some way.”

“Damn.” Fingon turned to the side and cursed again. “Alright. Where are the shears?” A pair was handed to him by Glorfindel, who gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks.” He gave his reflection a sidelong glance. “This is going to take so long. There are so many of them.”

Glorfindel ran a hand through his own hair. “You could unbraid them.”

“That would take longer.”

“If you want, I can finish it for you,” offered Erestor.

“I can help,” said Glorfindel as he brushed the bits of hair off of his shoulders and onto the pile on the floor.

Fingon moved around them to retrieve the stool, which he dragged through the mounds of hair on the floor. “No. I know I need to do this,” he whined. He sat down so that he was out of sight of the mirror, but still, did not begin to cut anything. “Idea,” he suddenly said. “I need something,” he mumbled. “Of course, if I leave, you are just going to think I am running away - which, I might. Retreat has not been part of my vocabulary until now.” 

“Would you like one of us to retrieve something for you?” asked Glorfindel.

Fingon crooked a finger at Erestor. Erestor crouched down to hear him better. “Can you bring my long hunting knife?” asked Fingon.

Erestor gave a nod and left the room. Glorfindel leaned back against the wall and looked down at Fingon. “I cannot believe you never had short hair.”

“I cannot believe this is scaring the shit out of me.” Fingon looked up. “Not literally.”

“I hoped not,” said Glorfindel. “But if you like to look at short hair, why did you never try this before?”

“Mmmmm…” Fingon fidgeted. “Because…”

Glorfindel cocked a brow. “Because is a horrible excuse.”

Fingon sighed. “Because there was one time -- a long time ago -- when I mentioned to Maedhros that a lot of gymnasts kept their hair short for competition and I was thinking of doing the same, and he…” Fingon looked away, faraway look in his eyes. Glorfindel waited patiently for Fingon to finish. Erestor returned with the knife, and Fingon said, “Maedhros said the only thing that made me pretty was my long hair. He said my nose was crooked -- which, it was at the time, from a tumbling accident when I broke it -- and my legs were too skinny, and I was not tall enough, and a litany of other things, and... “ Fingon looked back at the others and gave a defiant shrug. “I was afraid I would lose him.”

Erestor looked to Glorfindel for answers. “That was why he never cut his hair,” said Glorfindel.

“So not only does the braiding remind you of Maedhros,” said Erestor, “but the length of your hair does, too?” Fingon nodded as he stared at the floor. “Are you certain everything you are feeling is fear?” Fingon looked up at Erestor, who continued. “I happen to think fear can feel an awful lot like excitement sometimes. So, yes, this is a pretty big, scary change for you,” acknowledged Erestor. “But this is also your way of saying ‘fuck you’ to Maedhros.”

“If your name was not what it was, and if that episode with Maedhros had never occurred, do you think you would be this hesitant?” asked Glorfindel.

“Of course not.”

“You probably would have cut it a long time ago,” prodded Glorfindel.

Fingon looked less confident. “Maybe.”

Erestor was still in possession of the knife, which he held out of sight. “What is your mother-name?”

Eyes were rolled. “You already know. Everyone knows.”

“Ooo… sounds like a riddle!” Glorfindel nudged Erestor with a grin. “Want to read that one for us?” He was given a deadpan look from Erestor, who shook his head.

“Poldórëa.” Fingon shrugged. “My mother wanted to use Astaldo, but my grandfather on my father’s side said that would be borderline blasphemy.”

Glorfindel blinked. “So, when someone says ‘Fingon the Valiant’--”

“They are saying ‘Me the Me’. Hooray,” confirmed Fingon, voice monotone.

“Well, I was going to suggest we refer to you by your mother-name if that would help.” Erestor’s suggestion was met by Fingon shaking his head. “Maybe we need to come up with a new name for you.” Fingon wrinkled his nose. “I could spend the rest of the night saying ‘Your Majesty’ when I need to gain your attention.” Fingon hissed.

This caused Glorfindel, still playing with his curls, to gleefully grin. “Bad kitten.”

“Oh, please… I am no kitten.” Fingon waited until Erestor bent down to retrieve the comb, which had fallen to the floor at some point, and then stuck the tip of his tongue out at Glorfindel.

“Whatever you are, your braids are lopsided now,” Erestor reminded. “I am fading fast. If you want to wait until morning--”

“Shit, no, I have appointments in the morning. This has to be done tonight.” Fingon tilted his head down, braids swinging forward at either side of his face. “Even if I look hideous, do you both promise to lie to me and tell me how amazing I look?”

“I am not going to lie to you,” said Erestor. “On the other hand, you could be bald and still look amazing.”

Fingon whimpered and pulled his braids away from Erestor. “Do you still have my knife?” He snatched it away from Erestor when it was held out to him. “Certainly going to do this myself,” he confirmed. “Bald… honestly… you spent too much time with that crowd from the House of the Hammer when you were in Gondolin.”

“Probably did,” reflected Erestor. He sat down on the floor and closed his eyes. “I am sorry. I am trying my best to be loving and supportive, but I was up before dawn because one of the goats gave birth to twins, and this is important, and I am complaining and do not mean to be, but I am tired. I want this to be special for you, but I also need sleep.”

Glorfindel took a step back so that he could place a hand on Erestor’s shoulder to comfort him. “I think Fingon and I have been running on adrenaline this evening, because we shared a fair amount of wine between us and I am wide awake.”

“Same,” admitted Fingon. He looked down the edge of the blade. “This should not be so hard for me. I think you might be right, Erestor.”

“About what?” He stayed seated, eyes closed.

“The excitement. The thrill. I have always looked the same my entire adult life.” Fingon bit his lip. He shifted his gaze to Glorfindel. “I need you to tell me again that I can do this.”

“The only person who needs to tell you that is you,” said Glorfindel as he approached, but he took hold of Fingon’s hand and lifted it as he knelt. “You are both sweet and fierce. If anyone can do anything, that person is you.” He kissed Fingon’s hand. “Maybe I did you a favor cutting some of them too short.”

“Maybe you did,” conceded Fingon. He brushed his lips against Glorfindel’s fingers before he let go. “I feel compelled to express my current mood.”

“Of course,” agreed Erestor gently.

Fingon licked his lips. “I would paraphrase it as ‘Fuck you, Russandol’.” 

“Eloquent,” said Erestor with a little nod. “Concise and to the point.”

Fingon grasped the handle of the blade and gathered up as many braids as he could, some of them slipping from his grasp. “Fuck that immature, soul-crushing asshole. I have continued to allow him to creep into my head, and I can assure you, he hardly gives me a second thought.” Fingon lifted the knife and pressed it to the dark tresses, wound in glimmering thread, but paused. His hands were trembling. “If I start crying, I need one of you to finish this for me. And neither of you to say a damned thing to anyone about how this all occurred.”

Erestor opened his eyes, but did not immediately answer. “I will help you,” said Glorfindel, and he knelt down again in front of Fingon. “If you want I can stay right here,” he offered, his hands resting on Fingon’s knees. 

It did not take Fingon as long as Glorfindel once he started. The knife was sharp, and Fingon easily cut away dozens of braids at a time. Even so, when he finished, he had kept a considerable amount of length compared to Glorfindel. He held the knife out to Erestor, and looked around on the floor at the carnage around him. Some of the braids had fallen over one of Glorfindel’s shoulders, and Fingon plucked one from him. “That is a lot of hair.”

“It certainly is,” agreed Glorfindel. “We are going to have a hard time fitting all of it into that box.”

“I am trying to pretend that half of it is not mine, because until I see my reflection, in my head, everything is fine.” Fingon lifted his hand to fan himself. “I feel as if I shall swoon.”

“But you did it.” Glorfindel put his arms around Fingon’s waist and smiled up at him. “No tears, just… did what you had to do. You did much better than I did.”

“You do need someone to trim the ends evenly, but you do look... “ Erestor paused and forced out, “handsome.”

“Say it.”

“Hmm?”

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Erestor…”

“Cute. I was going to say cute. You have a massive amount of unevenly cut braids, and now that they are shorter, you look considerably younger. Like a child who took it upon himself to try cutting his own hair.”

“Thank you. Your opinion is noted.” Fingon looked up to Glorfindel for his approval.

“I am going to be honest. You look like a younger version of Turgon with his hair braided,” said Glorfindel. He was immediately slapped on the arm by Erestor.

“I was a little afraid of that when we started,” admitted Fingon.

“Your braids are already unraveling, though, so we should probably let them and brush it all out and then I can trim it however you like,” Erestor offered. “Provided we are still able to sleep before dawn breaks.”

“And provided you do not look like Turgon,” added Glorfindel quickly.

Fingon did not answer. Instead, he slowly stood up and shook his head to loose any braids that had not yet fallen to the ground, and then turned to face the mirror. He lifted his head and examined himself from various angles. “Oh, come on… Turgon is only half as pretty as I am,” he declared as he admired himself in the mirror. “Actually… hmm…”

“Actually what?” prodded Erestor.

Fingon lifted a hand behind the back of his neck and flipped the shorter braids outward and smirked a little. “I… actually... “ He tilted his head to one side, and then back again, and the braids followed. 

“I think he likes it,” said Glorfindel as he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest with a smirk.

“I can tolerate it,” said Fingon, but he was still playing with it. “Also, I really do not look that much different. Ooo… I saw someone once with beaded hair. I wonder if I could do that. I never tried before because I thought it would be too heavy.”

Erestor coaxed Fingon to sit back down onto the stool. “Stop for a moment so I can even them up.”

As Erestor set to work unraveling and brushing out Fingon’s hair, Glorfindel took advantage of the extra space by the mirror and stepped forward. He ran a hand through his hand and fluffed it out a little more. Then he ran a hand over the back of his neck. He used his other arm to lift his hair, just past his chin, out of the way. “Erestor?”

“Hmm?” Erestor looked up. “Is something wrong?”

Glorfindel still had his hair elevated. “Would you be able to make it a little shorter?” he asked.

Erestor lifted a brow. “If that is what you want,” he answered.

Glorfindel nodded. “Not right now, because you need to finish with Fingon, and it is late. Perhaps tomorrow.” He studied himself from the side. “Could you make it so that the sides near the front do not go quite to my chin before you use my razor to shave all of these strange little furry bits off of my neck?”

“Whatever you like,” Erestor had not yet started to trim Fingon’s hair, for there were still dozens of braids left to loosen, and shimmery threads to detangle from his tresses. “Do you want me to do that for you, too?” he asked.

“I think I have had enough of an adventure for one night,” said Fingon. “And I certainly do not want it that short.”

“I meant the back of your neck. It gives it a tidy look with short hair.”

“No, thank you,” answered Fingon.

“Are you sure?” Erestor ran a hand over the back of Fingon’s neck. “You sort of like those… raw sensations, and it makes all of this nice and smooth.” Erestor abandoned his task and ran his fingernails down the back of Fingon’s neck. Fingon let out of a little whimper and said something quietly. “What was that?” asked Erestor, and he nipped at Fingon’s ear as he had to Glorfindel earlier.

“That feels nice,” he drawled.

Erestor smiled against Fingon’s ear. “So, is that a yes?”

“Yes, please.”

Erestor stood up with a smirk. “Thought so. By the way, what were you going to say earlier?”

“Hmm?”

“When I was discussing Gondolin, and things I would do with Glorfindel. You were going to make a suggestion about what you could do if we were pretending,” said Erestor.

“Oh.” Fingon sat up straight again as Erestor resumed, and began to brush through the thick hair. “Better that I stopped myself.”

Fingon’s hair was completely unbraided now. Brushing elevated it, so that it was beginning to do just what Fingon warned it would do, and Erestor leaned back to look at it. “Fin, give me your opinion on something.”

From the wall, Glorfindel shook his head, but came forward. “Uh-huh.”

“Out of curiosity, how long does Turgon wear his hair?” Erestor question made Fingon cringe.

Glorfindel stood next to Erestor. “Yeah, about that long,” he said. “And, like that. Exactly like that.” He was frowning. Deeply. 

There was a groan and a sigh, and Fingon tilted his head back, even though he could not really make eyecontact with them this way. “So, what I was going to say, was that I would probably end up looking like Turgon. Specifically, when you were talking about Gondolin, I was going to suggest that I could pretend to be Turgon. And that might be weird. It would be weird. So… continue to not pretend that.”

“I have to stop looking,” said Glorfindel as he turned away. “I am going to start having flashbacks.”

Fingon looked at the reflection and frowned at Erestor. “You, too?” he asked when Erestor pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You have a lot of similar features,” Erestor said.

“Fuuu-uuuuck. So all this time, I was just athletic Turgon with long hair.”

Erestor came around to the side and took a step back. “Maybe once I trim it, it will not seem so noticeable.”

Fingon sat perfectly still for several minutes, all while he watched Glorfindel in the mirror pace and scrutinize what Erestor did. Finally, Fingon waved a hand. “Just do it,” he insisted.

“Do what?”

“Make it not Turgony.” Fingon sighed. “Style it, layer it, cut it shorter -- just make it so that Glorfindel stops giving me that look.”

“What look?” asked Erestor as he turned around.

“What?” Glorfindel tried to turn away, but Erestor pressed his lips together when he caught a glimpse. “I am trying not to judge, but--”

“Glorfindel, as much as you cannot stand it, I cannot stand it more.” Fingon rubbed at his own eyes now. “And the day is beginning to wear on me. I want to go to bed and cuddle with both of you, but right now that is not going to happen if I look like this.”

Erestor picked up the comb in one hand and lifted the scissors in the other. “What do you want me to do, then?”

“Just change it. Let Glorfindel decide,” suggested Fingon.

Erestor nodded and ran the comb through Fingon’s hair a few times. “Glorfindel?” He made a motion with his hand behind Fingon’s head.

Glorfindel rubbed his chin and shook his head. Erestor motioned again, and then Glorfindel reached over, and Erestor nodded and continued to comb out the rest.

Fingon said nothing until he felt the comb stop just below his ears, barely midway through what was left. “What are you--”

>Shhhhhhhnnnnk<

Fingon’s gulp was audible. “Glorfindel, what did he just do?”

“I think it might be too short for you to braid now,” he remarked. “On the bright side, you will no longer look like Turgon.”

>Shhhhhnk<

Fingon whimpered slightly. “Glorfindel! I thought you liked me! Will I even be able to pull it back when I go riding?”

“Maybe.” Erestor paused and combed it all out again. He had only shortened it on one side, but now set to doing the other. “I think so. You have a long neck.”

>Shhhhnk<

“I can hear that much too close to my ears.”

“It was well past your shoulders before,” explained Glorfindel. “Now it is above them.”

“Above my shoulders -- Glorfindel my hair will not even reach my chin!”

“Above that, too. However, you did tell me I could decide what length--”

“That was because I thought you would leave it longer!” Fingon took a deep breath and let it out slowly as Erestor chopped off the rest of the length and let it fall to the floor. “I feel like I just got punished for something,” he said.

“You were the one who suggested it,” disputed Erestor. “Besides, five minutes ago, you were destined to spend the night on the couch. Now…” Erestor eased Fingon to stand up and made sure he saw himself in the mirror. “...I can do this,” he said, and he slid one hand down the front of Fingon’s trousers. Fingon purred and leaned back, and Erestor easily nibbled on his exposed neck. He scraped his teeth along his skin, and then withdrew and reached for another drawer. “Right, I was going to shave the back of your neck first…”

“You fucking tease,” scolded Fingon.

Erestor smiled seductively and moved the razor on the counter so that it was closer. “Oh, just wait. You have no idea.”


	5. A Place That Your Heart Can Embrace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original rating was mature, but during the writing process, things happened in chapter six >.> So, twice as many chapters than initially expected, and a higher rating - but I don't see any of you complaining, darlings, so on with the show!

Glorfindel coughed politely and tapped Erestor on the shoulder. “Excuse me, I think I was here first,” he said as he playfully pushed Fingon out of the way.

Erestor clicked his tongue and raised a scolding finger. “He has places to be in the morning, Fin. You can wait until tomorrow for me to finish yours.”

“Your supervisor could just give you the day off tomorrow so you can sleep in,” suggested Glorfindel.

“True…” Erestor gave Fingon a sideways look. “If only my supervisor would do that.”

Fingon was focused on his reflection again, and alternated between trying to smooth his remaining hair down, and running his fingers through it to give it a natural look. “Your supervisor is going to be late tomorrow no matter what, so I think he will give you a reprieve.” 

 

“Alright then.” Erestor placed his hands on Glorfindel’s shoulders and turned him to face the mirror. “You want this a little shorter, right?”

Glorfindel nodded and lifted his hand. “Do you see how it hangs a little longer in the front along the sides? I just want it all the same length.”

Erestor found the comb and drew it through Glorfindel’s hair, which bounced back into place after every stroke. “I see that. What about here?” he asked,and he pinched the end of some strands that draped down from Glorfindel’s forehead and were pushed to the side.

“You can leave those for now.” Glorfindel picked up the razor. “And then remember you still need this, too, for my neck.”

“I will not forget,” said Erestor with a soft chuckle. “I might be sleepy, but you have both managed to hold my attention.” 

While Erestor evened up the short waterfall of golden curls, Glorfindel opened and examined the razor. “This one is getting dull in the middle,” he remarked. “I should change the blade so no one gets hurt.” 

Fingon turned around and lifted himself onto the counter so that he could sit and face his companions. “Does that take very long? Is there anything I can do to help?”

Glorfindel looked away from the razor to address Fingon, but he averted his gaze again immediately. “Uh… it um… I can… find them… once Erestor finishes.”

“Fin.” Fingon stared intently at Glorfindel. “Fin. Psst. Fin!” Glorfindel glanced up again, his cheeks colored a deep rose. “Here. Watch this.” Fingon stretched to reach the brush, and drew it through his hair several times, straight up. When he lowered his arms, most of his hair stayed in place. “I bet you never saw someone do this with their hair before.”

“I am so sorry,” apologized Glorfindel again. “I should not have been so hasty. You do not look that much like Turgon. I would have gotten used to it.”

Erestor snipped a few more ends and combed through Glorfindel’s mane before he stood back to look over his work. “Maybe you would have.”

“It is very unique,” offered Glorfindel as Fingon reached up to tease the rest of his hair until it was sticking out in every direction.

“I am just having fun with it right now. As soon as Erestor is finished with you, he is going to need to work some serious magic over here.”

“I can see if we have any hair oil,” said Erestor as he trimmed a few more bits before he was satisfied with Glorfindel’s haircut.

“Oh, this is beyond some oil to weigh it down. You know it, I know it, and Glorfindel, from his expression, really knows it.” Fingon turned his head to look into the mirror, which was very close to him now. He cringed, made faces at himself, and sighed. “This is not going to work. I doubt anyone could take me seriously like this. I cannot take myself seriously.”

“Sorry,” whispered Glorfindel.

Fingon hopped off of the counter. “Where are the blades you need?”

Glorfindel pointed. “Bottom drawer, right over there.”

Fingon opened the drawer and tapped a small box. “In here?” he guessed, and Glorfindel nodded. “What is this?” he asked as he picked up the other tool beside it.

“A beard trimmer. The razor is for shaving, the trimmer is a way to make the entire beard the same length. It adjusts to make it shorter or longer,” he explained as Fingon turned a metal key on the side that widened the space between a small pair of shears and four wheels meant to move along skin.

Fingon handed the blades to Glorfindel, but he pulled the stool away from the mirror with his foot and sat down on it to further his investigation of the device. “I never saw something like this. Beleg just used a scissors on his. Come to think of it, he had his beard the entire time we were together, and I do not think he owned a razor, either. He is fastidious about his appearance, though, so it was always short and tidy.”

“The only Elf I know who can grow a beard and just leaves it to do whatever it wants is Cirdan,” said Erestor, who was now pinning Glorfindel’s hair on the top of his head to gain easier access to his neck. “You just want this part here, right?” he asked as he rubbed his fingers over the lower part of Glorfindel’s neck.

“Yes -- but as long as you have the razor, and as long as you are going to make a mess anyhow--”

Erestor brushed two fingers down Glorfindel’s cheek. “You want me to shave this, too?”

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I think you have stubble, and that either means you need to shave or were going to let your beard grow out.” Erestor patted Glorfindel’s cheek before he reached into another drawer to pull out a cup, a brush, and a covered bowl of powdered soap. 

“I think a shave would be nice.” He watched Erestor tip some of the powder from the bowl into the cup, add water, and use the brush to make a bubbly, soapy froth. “I miss having you do it,” he added. When Erestor turned his head and smiled, Glorfindel whispered, “I missed you.”

“Awwww,” cooed Fingon from his perch.

Erestor set the cup down and patted Glorfindel’s cheek again, but this time, he kissed him. Neither had spent much time discussing the last six years, and there were still many unanswered questions between them, but when Fingon learned that Glorfindel was no longer with Faelion (who now had a wife and a newborn child), he asked Erestor only one question: Do you still love Glorfindel? The answer to led to a brief journey to find Glorfindel and, as Fingon put it, bring him home. 

Since then, the trio had lived more like brothers than lovers, sharing a bed, but barely more than chaste kisses and touches as well. The wine, the late hour, and the intimacy of the experience they were sharing was not lost upon any of them. There had already been more kissing in this one evening than there had been in all the months since Erestor and Fingon had returned to the Cottage of Lost Play with Glorfindel. 

It was as if Glorfindel could read Erestor’s thoughts -- and at one time he easily could, so perhaps he did again -- as their lips parted and he said, “Remember what I used to do on the nights I shaved?”

Now it was Erestor who was blushing, and Fingon whistled from his spot across the room. “Hey, so, does this work on hair, then?” interrupted Fingon as he help up the trimmer.

“It should,” answered Glorfindel. “Beard hairs are coarser than regular hair, and it can cut through those with ease.”

Fingon stood up and stepped next to Glorfindel, and then bowed his head. “Here. Feel this.”

Glorfindel lifted his hand and patted it against Fingon’s hair. “Oh.”

“Right?”

“Braided it seemed different. I guess it was so tightly compacted it did not frizz like this” Glorfindel rubbed a few strands between his fingers. “Are you really going to cut it shorter?”

“Well, I cannot go out looking like this.” Fingon retreated again, but found that Erestor had stolen the stool away to bring to Glorfindel, so he leaned against the wall and continued to play with the adjustments of the trimmer. “As I mentioned earlier, short hair was not uncommon for gymnasts. It probably still trends now and then -- I have no idea, I stopped going to meets when I stopped coaching. Anyhow, there was one competitor from a neighboring gym that I competed against on a frequent basis when I was moving up the ranks. He had short hair that was the same length no matter when I saw him. I wonder if he used something like this to do that.”

“He might have.” Erestor patted the stool once he had it positioned, and Glorfindel sat down. One towel was placed over Glorfindel’s shoulders and back, and another was draped over his chest, up to his chin, and drawn back past his shoulders. “Sit very still,” he advised Glorfindel as he whisked the soap with the brush before he started to dab it over Glorfindel’s chin, cheeks, and neck.

Fingon positioned himself back on the counter to get a better look at what Erestor was doing. “Maybe I should just use these to take it all off and start over,” he opined.

“Interesting suggestion, considering where we were a few minutes ago,” noted Erestor as he placed his hand upon the crown of Glorfindel’s head. Erestor bent Glorfindel’s head back a bit and with a steady hand, scraped the blade over the budding follicles on Glorfindel’s face, and then swished the blade around in the bowl of water on the counter. “Fingon, can you change the water in the basin? I just noticed how much hair fell into it earlier, and I need to clean the blade a lot while I do this.”

“Of course!” Fingon slid off the counter and lifted the heavy porcelain bowl of water from its indentation on the counter. 

While Fingon was gone, Erestor continued his work, but used the side of a towel to wipe off the excess soap. He concentrated intently as he worked around Glorfindel’s lips. After he finished with the difficult parts, he moved back to Glorfindel’s cheeks to finish up. “I am trying to figure out Fingon’s mood,” he said. 

Glorfindel waited until Erestor was wiping the blade to answer. “I can never tell if he is masking feelings on purpose, or if he was taught to do that, or if it is just a King thing. Because Gil-Galad was very similar.”

“As one would expect,” chuckled Erestor.

“Oh, right,” realized Glorfindel. “Like father, like son. So what is Fingolfin like? That might help to figure it out.”

Erestor shrugged. “I never spent that much time with him. And hold still a moment, and then you can talk again.” He finished shaving Glorfindel’s face, and then walked around to reach his neck. “Even over the last few years, we have only been to a few family gatherings. Fingolfin seems generally pleasant, but I have no idea how he is about his emotions -- if he is like… well, no, wait. We know the answer to this,” he said as he placed his hand upon Glorfindel’s head again, but tilted it forward. “Turgon is very stoic, too, and so was Aredhel. I wonder… did Fingolfin teach his children not to be outwardly emotional because he saw how overtly emotional his older brother was?”

“Ah… that would explain it.” Glorfindel swallowed and cleared his throat with a bit of difficulty, as his chin was pushed against his chest. “Well. I am not going to be surprised if Fingon asks you to chop all of his hair off.”

“I doubt he needs me for that.”

“Why is that?”

“Have you noticed how long he has been gone?” Erestor wiped the razor once more before he placed it on the counter. “He should have been back by now. He snuck the trimmer in his pocket before he left.”

“Huh.” Glorfindel lifted his head now that Erestor was not restraining him and looked himself over in the mirror. 

“He is very independent.” Erestor took a hand towel and used water from the pitcher to dampen it. He then used it to wipe any lines of soap or stray hairs from Glorfindel, and used the dry corner to go over everything again before letting Glorfindel’s hair back down. “What do you think? Do I have a future as a barber if this whole library thing does not work out?”

“This is perfect.” Glorfindel rubbed his chin, causing the towels to shift. Erestor grabbed them away before they slid to the floor. “Thank you, sweetheart,” said Glorfindel. Erestor nodded and rolled the towels to keep the sudsy parts on the inside. “Um… earlier. What I said about things we did after I shaved… is that going to cause a problem with the two of you?” Glorfindel’s voice was hesitant, and he scratched his nose as he awaited the answer.

Erestor shrugged. 

“I mean… we never really talked about it, but… if the two of you, uhm.” Glorfindel licked his lips. “I am grateful to be here, and I do not want to ruin whatever the two of you have together. Just being here with you -- and with him -- is more than I deserve. So if you would prefer not to have me invade your intimate times with him, I would understand. He is a far better man than I am, and I am happy for the two of you. I am glad that he has taken care of you. I can tell that the two of you are very good for each other.”

“I appreciate that.” Erestor chewed at his lip, and Glorfindel coughed again, and Erestor finally said, “He and I do not do whatever it is you might think we do. I think.”

Glorfindel picked up the razor and closed it so that the blade was not exposed, but only set it back and said nothing.

“We only had a few years between the time you and Faelion left, and you returned,” said Erestor. “We are still really just getting to know each other.”

“Well, shit. By now… the two of you seem so close, and so sweet together. I just thought you had already crossed that bridge. I guess I fucked that up, then.”

“No… I never said that,” scolded Erestor. “He and I are just… taking our time.”

“So…” Glorfindel sighed. “Probably not a good idea to make good on that after-shave promise tonight?”

“As much as the thought fellatio after such a long sexual drought is making me hard right now, probably not,” agreed Erestor. 

“Maybe if I offer one to Fingon first?” Glorfindel half-joked.

Erestor rolled his eyes, but smiled. “Maybe. Probably not.”

Glorfindel stretched, and Erestor yawned. “How long do you think we should wait for him to come back?” asked Glorfindel.

“It has been a while. I would like to clean this room before we sleep. You might even want a bath before then,” suggested Erestor.

The pair decided to gather up the hair on the floor and began the task of placing it into the box. Glorfindel meticulously counted the number of braids on the floor, but once his hair was in the box, and half the braids, it would barely close. “Guess you should have used a bigger box,” he joked.

Erestor picked up the box, and Glorfindel gathered up the remaining braids. There were still loose hairs all over the floor, but as Erestor pointed out, there was no way they would get every piece, and the room would need to be swept at some point. Glorfindel opted to do so before they left, in expectation of a relaxing bath when they returned. They exited the washroom and searched a few other rooms on the main floor. The basin had been abandoned in the kitchen, where it had been refilled and set on the table. They continued through to the great room, but paused when they found a side door was ajar. “He put his boots on, too,” noted Erestor. He and Glorfindel donned footwear as well before they headed outside.

A few moments later, the dog ran up to them, yapping in happy greeting, before he ran off again. It was easy enough to figure out that they should follow the canine, and not too far away they found Fingon, digging a hole in an isolated part of the yard behind the garden and the pine trees.

“The ground is so hard right now. I am barely making a dent,” he complained. A few small piles of earth surrounded a shallow hole, but it was barely big enough for the box. “I thought I would do this quickly when I came out here to get water, but it turned into a greater ordeal than I expected.”

Erestor clutched the box to his chest and shook his head. “You will be here til morning if you continue. Maybe we can just put some rocks over it until spring.”

Glorfindel nodded. He looked up at Fingon’s hair, wild from all of the activity outside. “We thought you wandered off to finish cutting your hair.”

“No. I told Erestor he could,” Fingon reminded Glorfindel.

“You took the trimmer with you, and you were gone a really long time.” Erestor set the box down in the indentation. It did not quite want to fit, so he stepped on it a few times until it was forced down further.

“Oh! I saw that look from you, Erestor,” said Fingon. “I thought if I left them, you might hide them and make me think about my actions.” He turned to Glorfindel. “He tells me I am too impulsive sometimes.”

“And I am not wrong,” defended Erestor.

Fingon stuck the shovel into one of the piles of dirt to keep it upright and dusted off his hands. The dog was running around near his feet, and jumped up a few times to push at Fingon’s legs. Fingon grabbed a stick from the ground and flung it off for the dog to fetch. “Here.” He pulled the trimmer from his pocket and gave it to Erestor. Then he went to Glorfindel and held out his arms. 

The braids were transferred between them. “A lot turned out to be seventy-two.”

“I thought there were seventy-one,” said Erestor.

“Whatever. A lot, either way. Bye,” said Fingon as he walked back to the hole and let go of them. They thumped onto the top of the box and created a mound. Fingon kicked the errant ones into place, and returned to the shovel. He scooped some of the dirt up and shook it off on top of the box and braids. After doing this a few times, he held out the shovel to Glorfindel, who did the same before the shovel was passed around to Erestor.

Erestor dragged the remaining dirt onto the pile and patted it down with the spade of the shovel as Fingon and Glorfindel lifted a planter from a few meters away. Once the dirt was all back onto the grave, the planter was settled onto the top. Fingon wiped his hands on his trousers and nodded. “I think that will be alright until-- whoa! No, watch it!” The planter started to tip, but Glorfindel caught it in time. It was quickly moved off, but set just to the side of the mound, which was a bit flatter now.

“Idea. There are some bricks next to the shed. Nothing is going to disturb this over the next few days, so one of these evenings, we can place the bricks over the top of this,” suggested Erestor.

“The red ones? I was going to use those on the terrace,” said Fingon.

Glorfindel looked around and picked up a rock. “We could just gather a bunch of these and put them on top.”

“Great. We can do that later. The longer this goes on, the closer we get to morning.” Erestor rubbed at his eyes. “You need to decide what to do about your hair,” he said as he pointed to Fingon, “and you need to wash up,” he said as he pointed to Glorfindel. “That,” he said as he stabbed a finger in the air in the direction of the hole, “can wait. And this dog needs to go back inside.” Erestor passed the trimmer back to Fingon in order to pick up the dog, now running around and yapping, tongue hanging out, paws muddy from apparently helping to dig the hole. 

As Erestor walked away, Fingon held up the trimmer. “So how do I use this?”

Glorfindel tossed the rock back onto the ground. He came over and took the trimmer from Fingon. “This adjusts the thickness -- which is meant for beards, not hair, so the longest setting is not very long. Once you set it, you just rest it against your skin and then use this like you would scissors without lifting it up.” Glorfindel demonstrated on the back of his arm how the device would cut and move over and over as it was used.

“I see.” Fingon took the trimmer back and crouched down. While it was cold and mornings often greeted them with frosty ground, there had not yet been much snow this winter. The grass had ceased growth, but the blades were still green. Fingon adjusted the trimmer to the longest setting and experimented along the ground. “That might work. I could have Erestor taper it down the back and sides.”

“Are you sure? You were... really upset earlier,” Glorfindel reminded him.

“Going from hair taller than me to just under my ears was a really overwhelming thing,” explained Fingon. “Now, it looks like shit, and I have no idea what to do with it. And to be honest, this is the only time in my life I am ever going to have it this short. In ten or twenty years, I do not want to entertain thoughts of why I did not do what I wanted to back when I was younger. When I competed, I had to have it tightly wound into a braided crown so that it did not tangle. It was a pain in the ass and took a long time to do, and it really hurt sometimes. There was a particular way I wanted to have it, but it was very short and I never did it. I might as well do it now.”

“Ahhhh.” Glorfindel turned his head as the door closed and Erestor briskly walked out to join them again. “Well, can you describe it?” he asked once Erestor was within earshot. “We can do our best.”

“Alright, so… really short. Shorter than this. Damn, I wish I had the drawing my friend back then did. He was really good, and I had a picture of it,” Fingon said with a sigh. “I showed it to Maedhros. He tore it up.”

“Come here.” Erestor led the way a little further from the house, where there was a pool and the water was warm from an underground spring. In the summer it could be uncomfortable, but the rest of the year is was both relaxing and invigorating. Steam came off in varying wisps, and there was a crude patio built to one side, with several chairs and tables. “I brought the comb and scissors with me, because the washroom is clean now, and I thought we should bathe out here.”

“Did you bring towels?” asked Glorfindel. When Erestor shook his head, Glorfindel bounded back to the house to retrieve them.

“Alright. Tell me what you want. I am pretty good at following directions,” offered Erestor. He started to comb through Fingon’s hair, but the comb got stuck. Erestor pulled it out and started again from the ends, untangling it bit by bit and snagging it often. “I never noticed how complicated your hair is.”

“You never really brushed it before. Or saw it out of the braids. This is-- this is what goes on with it.” Fingon reached behind to take the comb away when it snarled again. “Here.” He held the trimmer over his shoulder. “I want the top up here,” he said as he tried to drag his fingers through it, “to be a little longer, but not so long that it falls into my face.”

“Nothing is going to fall into your face,” Erestor assured him. “Everything is… at attention,” he said.

“Now it is. After I find out from Turgon what he uses, I can make mine--”

“Wait, stop. What do you mean, what Turgon uses?” prodded Erestor.

“I just use soap and water when I wash it, which I only really do once a week or so. It took so long to dry. I have always had completely natural hair, just like Aredhel,” explained Fingon. “Turgon actually uses something to relax his and make it smooth. So does Argon. I think Argon thins his out, too, or layers it or something. But they both put something on it after they wash it, and it makes it smooth and shiny.”

“Something like a hair tonic?” guessed Erestor.

Fingon shrugged. “Sure. I have to ask him about that.”

Erestor tried to tuck the hairs on the side of Fingon’s head behind his ears, but they escaped almost immediately. “And how do you want this?”

“The rest of it should be shorter. Maybe the longest setting on the sides, and then a little shorter than that down the back.”

Glorfindel strolled over with some towels and set them on another of the chairs. “Fin, can you do me a favor?” asked Erestor. Glorfindel nodded and stepped closer. “I think, if you go back into the washroom on the third floor, there should be a wooden bin shoved under the bottom shelf of the closet. In it are some things that Faelion left, and I think that there is a jar of some sort of hair relaxing tonic. Can you look for that, and if it is there, bring it to me?” Glorfindel nodded again and went back to the house.

“And while he does that, I am going to start by using this on the back and sides,” said Erestor as he adjusted the the trimmer. “Do you want it really short just to your ears, or where exactly?”

Fingon ran his hands over the top and sides of his head a few times. “Right here, where my thumbs are,” he said as he slowly ran his hands one last time around the top of his head.

Erestor nodded. The sun was not up yet, but the sky was lighter, and it was easier to see outside than it had been in the candlelit room inside. He came around to stand in front of Fingon. “I just want to make sure you really want me to do this.”

Fingon looked up. “Maybe I want to do this because I have to know if you would ever tell me no.”

Erestor shook his head. “Your hair. Your choice. I am going to love and respect you no matter how long or short it is. Just tell me what you want.”

“Here, is that thing set?” asked Fingon as he pointed to the trimmer. Erestor nodded as Fingon took hold of it. “Like this, right?” he asked as he positioned it against his head.

“Here. Like this, or you are going to go straight up the top of your head.” Erestor straightened out Fingon’s hand. “Go ahead.”

Fingon squeezed the handle a few times, and tufts of hair that were sliced off drifted to the ground, some of them blowing across the grass. When the angle was too awkward for him to continue, he handed the trimmer back to Erestor. “You can finish the rest?”

“Of course.” The trimmer provided both speed and accuracy, and Erestor was able to finish most of the initial trim before Glorfindel returned. “Hold this,” Erestor directed as he took the jar and gave the trimmer to Glorfindel. “Do you recall if this was something Faelion left in or rinsed out?”

“I think he left it in,” said Glorfindel as Erestor opened the jar. 

As they spoke, Fingon reached up to rub the shorn part of his head. “This feels better than I thought it would. You are going to make it shorter than this after you do the top and gradually work down from there, right?”

“I am going to try to do exactly what you want,” promised Erestor as he poured a little of the lotion from the jar into his palm. It was massaged into the remaining hair that Fingon had. Erestor had to use a third of the jar, but when he was done, Fingon’s hair was sleek and shiny, without feeling oily. “We need to find out what this is, but there was a maker’s mark on the bottle, so perhaps someone at the market will know.”

“Maybe we can find a different scent, too,” suggested Glorfindel.

“It smells fine to me,” said Fingon.

“It smells like Faelion,” recognized Erestor as he now took the comb and was able to easily draw it through Fingon’s hair. “Sit really still, because I am going back to using the scissors,” advised Erestor. Fingon folded his hands, sat up straight, and kept his chin up. “Perfect.” 

“I am going to set things up for bathing,” offered Glorfindel, and he received a nod from Erestor, who was already focused intently upon his task again. Glorfindel tried to break the silence a little by whistling some tunes. This, and the noise from the water, mostly covered up the snipping of the scissors and the trimmer as Erestor worked. This included checking Fingon’s hair many times to make sure it passed the test of not falling into his view.

A little over half an hour later, the sun threatened on the horizon, and Erestor stood back and rubbed his own neck. “Done. Except the razor is inside, and I am going to beg that I am allowed sleep before I do anything with that. I want to be sure I do not draw blood, and I did trim back to the shortest setting on that part of your neck, so for a day or two, you will be fine,” Erestor assured Fingon.

Fingon brushed off his shoulders, then came to the edge of the pool and peered in. His reflection was a bit distorted, but he drew his fingers through his hair. “Damn,” was all he said.

“Too short?” worried Erestor.

“No. I look just like that picture from ages ago. This is perfect.” He slowly ran his hand through his hair again, then shook his head. Some of the strands fell out of place, so he drew his fingers back through them to straighten them out. “This is just what I wanted. Just took a really long time to get it.” He turned to put his arms around Erestor. “Thank you, darling. What do you think?” he asked.

“If you are happy, then I am happy.” Erestor put his arms around Fingon’s back and moved in to kiss him. Soon, his hands moved up past Fingon’s shoulders to rub the back of his head and neck. Fingon hummed his appreciation and deepened the kiss.

“It looks so good for you,” commented Glorfindel. “I mean, you look magnificent with long hair, but you look really regal right now.”

Fingon licked his lips as he bowed his head. “Thank you.” He looked to the pool that awaited them. “Shall we? Perhaps we can make it in and out before the sun is completely up for the day.”

“Perhaps we can make it in and out before I fall completely asleep,” said Erestor as he moved away and stripped off his clothing, which he dumped into a haphazard pile before he approached the edge of the pool. Glorfindel and Fingon followed suit, and soon joined Erestor in the water.


	6. Let Me In and Let This Love Begin

“Correct me if I am wrong, darling,” said Fingon as he touched and danced his fingers up and down Erestor’s arm once they were all settled in the warmth of the rocky pool, “but I think there was something Glorfindel wanted to do to you now that he shaved.”

Erestor parted his lips but did not respond. He looked to Glorfindel, who looked equally stunned.

“Go on,” coaxed Fingon. “I want to see what it is.” 

Glorfindel fidgeted. “Fingon, it--”

“You want to suck on his cock.” Fingon waited until Glorfindel’s mouth snapped shut, and then reached around Erestor to grab Glorfindel by the back of his neck. “Ooo, this is nice,” he commented as he pulled Glorfindel closer. Their lips locked before Glorfindel was able to respond, and Erestor swallowed hard as he watched the pair before him, so close that their limbs brushed his in attempts to grope at each other, and sometimes touching Erestor in the process. 

When Fingon released Glorfindel from the kiss, he kept a firm hold on his neck. “Am I right? The warm, moist cavern of your mouth, surrounding his rock-hard, throbbing cock?” Glorfindel stared down at the water before he looked up and nodded. “Then do it,” commanded Fingon as he forced Glorfindel under the water.

Erestor reached for Fingon’s arm with concern, but a moment later, his arms grappled for support from the rocky ledge behind him. He gasped, then moaned, then closed his eyes and curled his fingers into the little niches in the rock.

“That sounds favorable,” remarked Fingon. He wrapped a leg around Erestor’s left one under the water, and pulled it aside. It gave Glorfindel better access, and Erestor cried out again. “Either he has a very talented mouth, or you have a very willing penis.”

Erestor shuddered as Glorfindel resurfaced. They were both panting. Fingon appeared perfectly calm. One arm threaded behind Erestor’s back. “I seem to recall you enjoy a little of this, too.” Fingon’s fingers manipulated Erestor’s nipples, and the water around them lapped against the walls as Erestor bucked beneath it. “Glorfindel, be a dear and take care of that for him,” said Fingon with a nod to the water.

Glorfindel dived back beneath. As soon as Fingon felt Glorfindel spreading Erestor’s thighs, he rolled the sensitive nubs between his fingers. A wailing noise came from Erestor, but he brought an arm back and bit on his fingers to stop himself. Fingon let go to slap Erestor’s hand away. “How will he hear you, darling? Let it out.” He flicked his tongue against Erestor’s ear. “Let it all out.”

It was only the isolation of the cottage that kept Erestor from arguing. The next wave of pleasure came as Glorfindel drew him in completely and suckled at the root, and then stayed under for almost another minute before he surfaced again. 

Erestor was trembling, his fingers slipping from the ledge. Fingon held him up and nibbled along his neck. For a moment, Fingon abandoned Erestor’s throat to whisper something to Glorfindel, who lifted his brow but gave a nod. Under the water Glorfindel went again, this time propelling himself just beneath Erestor so that he could lift Erestor’s thighs over his shoulders. It gave him perfect access to Erestor’s hardened length. He was also able to reach around as Fingon suggested, and rub his fingers at the puckered opening.

Again, Erestor cried out, and Fingon traced over budded nipples with the tips of his fingernails. “You really enjoy that,” he crooned. Erestor moaned and gave Fingon a pleading look. “Tell me,” Fingon insisted as he twisted one nipple harshly. After the initial outcry, Erestor nodded. “Good,” he purred into Erestor’s ear. “I think you would like it even more if I was inside you.”

Erestor whined.

Fingon pinched Erestor’s nipples again. “Deeeeep inside you,” he growled. He bit at Erestor’s ear, beyond playful. Possessive. “Do you want that? Me, inside, stretching you, filling you, claiming your body -- Glorfindel, swallowing you, making you tremble, sucking you dry… do you want that, lover?”

“Yes,” gasped Erestor, and his eyes welled with tears at the sound of an endearing term he had longed to hear from Fingon -- a commitment they were both unsure of making.

Fingon hungrily kissed Erestor’s mouth, and reached a hand beneath the water. As Glorfindel continued to suck on Erestor’s erection, Fingon took hold of the base and gave it a few shallow strokes. Erestor tilted his head back, took firm hold of the rocky ledge to either side, and screamed as Fingon drew out his orgasm. Fingon shifted his position, and reached down with his other hand to take hold of Glorfindel’s neck. 

Glorfindel grasped Erestor’s thigh with one hand and Fingon’s arm with the other. He had already been under longer than intended, but he knew that Erestor was close -- despite the years apart, he still knew Erestor’s body and reactions, and still knew it would only be a few seconds more. What he did not anticipate was Fingon, who held him in place while milking every last drop, which Glorfindel struggled to swallow. It also made Glorfindel harder, to be forced into this slightly dangerous and very erotic position. If this was a sign of things to come… thoughts bombarded him, and he found his own release in the water. He felt lightheaded and tried to force Fingon’s arm away before he realized he was free of Fingon’s grip. He resurfaced, flushed and gasping for air, and found Erestor with his arms around Fingon; Fingon, for his part, seemed completely composed as he flicked his tongue against Erestor’s ear. Erestor shivered and lowered his head against Fingon’s shoulder.

“That was amazing,” said Glorfindel once he caught his breath.

“Best of all, no need to wash up. We can just dry off and go to bed,” said Fingon.

“What about…” Glorfindel cleared his throat. Fingon frowned. “I thought you would want… you know…”

“Oh.” Fingon stroked Erestor’s damp hair and kissed his forehead. “We should get him to bed before he falls asleep here.”

Glorfindel nodded and climbed out of the pool to retrieve a towel. While the pool was warm, the air was not, and he was shivering by the time he was back with the fluffy stack. “Here,” he offered as he held out one of them.

“Eres? Cupcake? Are you still awake?” asked Fingon.

“No,” mumbled a sleepy voice.

Fingon pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Come on, sweetling. You need to wake up and get out of the pool. Then I can carry you up to bed. Come on, lover, just wake up for a moment.”

Erestor opened his eyes, but the lids still drooped. “I want breakfast in bed, too. After I sleep,” he clarified.

“You can have whatever you want, my dear.” Fingon aided Erestor in reaching the spot where rocks jutted out to create something of a natural ladder in and out of the pool. Glorfindel stood at the top and wrapped a towel around Erestor as soon as he was out of the water. Fingon followed, and after he quickly patted himself off with his own towel and tied it around his waist, he came to where Erestor, still wrapped in a towel yet dripping on the ground, was sitting on the nearest chair. 

Fingon unwrapped his own towel and leaned down to dry Erestor’s legs, shoulders, and neck, and then pat his hair dry. Fingon wrapped the damp towel back around his waist. “Would you like me to carry you to bed, sweetheart?” he asked as he crouched down and drew a finger along Erestor’s jaw.

Erestor lifted his arms up, and linked them around Fingon’s neck. “Eggs, lightly buttered toast, avocado.” His eyes were still closed, and he snuggled against Fingon as he was lifted from the chair.

Fingon kissed the tip of Erestor’s nose. “What kind of eggs, beautiful?”

“The cooked kind,” answered Erestor as he drifted back to sleep again.

“Noted.” Fingon turned slowly and looked at Glorfindel. “Can you manage to bring everything else in on your own?”

Glorfindel nodded. “I will see you inside.” Glorfindel took his time as he gathered the abandoned clothing, as well as the scissors, comb, and trimmer. He left the shovel where it was, mostly because he was not sure exactly where Fingon took it from. He was dry by the time he finished, so he used his towel to bundle up the clothing, and walked back to the house in the nude. The cottage was set off the main road, and the woods on the property created a natural barrier from the nearest neighbors. 

The cottage was quiet when he entered. The dog was asleep near the door, but only opened one eye to assure himself that the scent was that of one of his elves before he went back to sleep. Glorfindel left the pile of items on the same table in the great room as the abandoned food from earlier. Tomorrow would undoubtedly be a cleaning day while Fingon and Erestor were away -- if they decided to go out at all.

Glorfindel slipped into the washroom and lit one of the candles. He smiled as he admired himself in the mirror. The basin was still missing, and he retrieved it from the kitchen before taking one more look at his reflection. “I guess I do always look adorable,” he said to himself as he fluffed up his hair. A sudden yawn was a reminder of the time, and he snuffed out the candle before he made his way to the second floor and walked down the familiar hallway to the master suite. 

When he entered the bedroom, Glorfindel found the blankets turned down for him on one side. Erestor was in the middle, curled up on his side. Fingon was lighting the little lantern on the side where Glorfindel would be sleeping. “He also wants peaches for breakfast,” whispered Fingon. “I really hope we have a jar of peaches somewhere.”

“We should.” Glorfindel sat down on the edge of the bed as Fingon walked from window to window and drew the curtains to darken the room. Erestor moved slightly, and Glorfindel pulled the coverlet up a little higher to tuck him in. He noticed that Erestor’s hair had been loosely combed and braided into one plait that seemed to favor one side, undoubtedly by Fingon after Erestor was in bed. “So… the thing that happened in the pool out there--”

“Oh. That.” Fingon came around the bed and sat down on the other side, which meant they were facing away from each other. “I just got caught up in it. I apologize. I should not have kept you under for so long.”

“Oh. Um…” Glorfindel cleared his throat. “That was actually… pretty exciting.”

“Oh. In that case, you are welcome.”

Glorfindel chuckled. “I think we both have different concerns.”

“Clearly,” agreed Fingon. He looked over his shoulder. “Fin, my grandfather--”

“The same one that is my great-grandfather, no doubt.”

“Yes.” Fingon let that fact settle before he continued. “He married twice. He would have kept both wives had the Valar not stepped in. I have entertained thoughts for a very long time of having more than one… partner. Spouse. Committed significant others. Call it whatever you want. I just never thought it could come to fruition.” His hand slid back to rub over Erestor’s covered thigh and he smiled. “I know that we are all still working through things, you and I especially, but this is the most comfortable I have ever been in a relationship. I feel like tonight in the pool was evidence of that.”

“It was very sensual,” said Glorfindel, who now looked over his shoulder at Fingon. “It felt really good. All three of us.”

“Mmmhmm. I thought so.” Fingon paused and looked Glorfindel over. “Did you…?” He lifted a brow.

“Oh, yes.” Glorfindel coughed slightly. “Um… did you?” 

“Maybe.” Fingon smirked when Glorfindel rolled his eyes. “I think I came first.”

“Before Erestor?” 

Fingon nodded.

“Then yes, and also, when? And how?” asked Glorfindel.

Fingon stifled a yawn. “It just happened. Anyhow, I hope that allays your fears -- I might not be as physical as the two of you, but I did enjoy what happened. I think I would enjoy it if those sorts of things happened more often… but I do not want you and Erestor to feel like you need to have my approval of everything you do. I expect you to be intimate with him, just as you should expect that sometimes I will be intimate with him without you.” Fingon slid his fingers along his lips and contemplated his next revelation. “And if it should happen one day that our relationship evolves to that point, perhaps there may be intimacies shared between us that do not include Erestor. However, I think, as with most things, I will be happiest when we are all three together -- and I hope that you, and Erestor, will be in agreement with me.”

Glorfindel, who was unable to chase away his yawn, nodded as he covered his mouth. He crawled up onto the bed, and while carefully minding where Erestor slumbered, he leaned in closer to Fingon to kiss him goodnight. “Sleep well. I love you.”

Fingon’s hand shot out and grasped Glorfindel by the back of his neck. He rubbed their noses together and returned the kiss. “I love you, too, Fin. Sweet dreams.”

They both moved closer to Erestor, and consequently each other. There was pillow fluffing and cover adjusting, until they were finally settled in. The single light in the room danced off the walls and played upon the curtains. Glorfindel turned his head to stare at the lantern. “Will it bother you if I put this light out?” he asked.

“Not really. I just thought you always slept with it lit,” said Fingon.

“And I am so thankful that you -- and Erestor -- have been understanding of that.” Glorfindel rolled over and opened the little door of the lantern. “However, I feel very empowered tonight. Or this morning. Whatever. Your encouragement and your love -- from both of you -- is making me feel stronger. I do not need a lantern or a candle every night to make me feel safe. I just need the two of you, and to believe in myself.”

“Yay,” came a muffled voice between them.

Glorfindel and Fingon looked at each other, and then down at Erestor, whose eyes were closed, but lips were turned upwards. “How long have you been awake?” Glorfindel demanded.

“We really need to check to be sure he is actually asleep before we talk privately around him, because he has done this before,” said Fingon.

“We could tickle his foot,” suggested Glorfindel. Erestor gave a muffled whimper and drew his legs up closer.

“I could play with his face, like this,” said Fingon, and he batted at Erestor’s nose and lips with one of his fingers. Erestor, eyes still closed growled and snapped at Fingon, who laughed. “Erestor is ornery and we are silly, so if you are going to blow out the lantern or not blow it out, please make a decision before he bites me, because we should sleep either way.”

Glorfindel extinguished the light in the lantern, then shifted back to his companions. They all fell asleep, snuggled together, as rays of the sun tried to creep into the room around the curtains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All titles for the Freedom! series are songs from George Michael's 'Listen Without Prejudice Volume 1' album. 
> 
> All chapter titles are lyrics from the song for which they are named. One-shots in the series use lyrics from Freedom! '90.
> 
> I suggest, dear reader, if you decide to reread this tale, to do so listening to the song for which it's named -- I end up doing the plotting for each story while listening to the song. (Alternatively, the actual writing of some parts of each story in the series is written while listening to Freedom! '90, so that is also, in my opinion, an excellent choice. Or just the whole album. The entire album is gold.)
> 
> Next Up in the Freedom Series: "Soul Free"


End file.
